Rainbows Overdue
by shockingthebarbies
Summary: AU. Traumatized!Hurt!Dean,14 & Disabled!Caring!Sam,10. Dean is seriously injured after John dumps him at Bobby's house and disappears. As Dean tries to heal, his only friend is Sam, a boy whose scars match his own. Will Dean remember Sam is his brother or will it drive him over the edge? He's determined to escape and find John, but is it for love or revenge?
1. Chapter 1

**Rainbows Overdue**

Chapter One

Dean's stomach clenched when John stopped the Impala in front of an isolated farm. It was so hot and humid his shirt clung to his sweaty back. When John opened the car door, the swelling sound of millions of insects assaulted his ears. A swamp, he thought. This is northing more than a backwoods piece of dirt. Smells like it, too. Rotten and damp.

John stepped from the car and gestured toward him. "Come on."

Dean hesitated. Something didn't feel right. If there was anything left in his stomach, he was going to vomit. His heart raced when John yanked him from the car and backhanded him. Dean fell straight onto his butt.

"Robert," he heard John call out.

"John," a gruff voice answered him. "Long time, no see."

Dean remained seated on the ground, hands on his knees and head bent down, feeling shaky and exhausted. His long hair stuck to the side of his throbbing cheek, and he cupped it, to stop it from hurting.

John cleared his throat. "Have you met Dean? I don't remember." John kicked his leg, sending him sprawled to one side. "Get up," John growled.

"Not since he was a young varmint," the gruff voice answered. "A million years ago. Back in South Dakota."

John chuckled nervously. "It's only been ten years."

"You here to see him? You just up and left, never a phone call or letter since. He might be dead for all you know."

"I doubt that."

"Not in my capable hands, huh?"

Dean rose from the ground and looked away quickly when he saw the grizzled, bearded man remove his cap and stare at him. The guy seemed like he was straight out of that Deliverance movie.

"Seems kinda scrawny," the man snorted. "Could be a prom queen with all that pretty hair."

"Piss off," Dean muttered under his breath.

John grabbed his shoulder and squeezed hard. "Hasn't had his growth spurt yet."

John and the man eyed each other as the seconds ticked by.

The man opened his front door and motioned for Dean. "Why dontcha make yourself at home, kid. Your daddy and I have some things to discuss. There's chairs in the living room and cokes in the icebox."

John smiled and nodded. "Go ahead, Dean." He practically shoved Dean toward the man.

Dean glared death at both of them and entered the house with a great sigh. He pretended to bang the door shut but held onto the door handle to pull it open a tiny crack. He pressed his ear close and held his breath as he eavesdropped.

"What's this about, Johnny?" the older man demanded. "You don't stop by unless you want somethin'."

John ran a hand over his hair. "Bobby...I'm going to prison. My trial is next week, and my lawyer says he can't get me off. They caught me red handed. I'm looking at ten years."

Bobby spit on the ground. "Let me guess. You were stealing. What was it this time? Credit card theft or have you graduated to bank robbery."

Dean peeked out the door. John's face was as red as he'd ever seen it. Wonder if he was going to pop the old guy on the jaw.

"I'm on a mission," John said. "You were a hunter. You know that."

"I always found a way to support myself. A man can do that, you know. Provide for his family while hunting on the side. That's what most hunters do."

John waved his hand around. "You're not a hunter anymore. How would you know? Never set foot off this farm I bet."

Dean almost chuckled out loud but placed a hand over his mouth as he grinned. Kick his ass, John.

"You saw to that!" Bobby yelled. "You chose huntin' over your obligation. Saw fit to pass it on to me."

John stepped forward, his hands balled into fists. "And I can take him back. This arrangement isn't legal."

Bobby poked his finger at John. "Don't you threaten me or my family. What you done wasn't legal, and you know it."

Dean's throat tightened. This was heating up. He wasn't sure what they were arguing about, but he reached into his waistband, his hand brushing his pistol. Just in case.

Bobby sighed. "What's the story with the Dean kid. I guess one plus one equals two? You dumpin' him here while you're in prison?"

Dean's knees gave way, and he grabbed onto a nearby hall tree to avoid crashing to the floor. What?! John wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't explain why they were coming here. What was going on?

John seemed to deflate. "Guess so. You've done such a good job with..."

"How would you know?!" Bobby roared. "You just stopped by in the middle of the night, woulda left him on my doorstep to freeze to death if I hadn't heard your rumbling car in my driveway. And, YOU NEVER CAME BACK. John, you don't give a damn about your own kids."

John looked defeated. "He would've held me back. I had to help Mary."

"Who's DEAD! But, your children are alive."

Dean couldn't stop biting his lip raw. Children? More than one? He needed to pace, do something, work off this energy flaming up inside him...the anger and the...fear. No, he was a hunter; he was never afraid. Dean turned abruptly as a weird sound crept up behind him.

"Who are you, and who's Daddy arguin' with?" The voice was halting, having difficulty spitting out the words. And the face, geez. He might've been a cute kid with the floppy brown hair flaring out in all directions, but all Dean could see was the huge, coke bottle eyeglasses dominating the kid's face. And the puzzled, hazel eyes appearing four times their normal size.

"Shhhh," Dean said, turning back to the door, his ear held closely to the open crack.

The kid touched the armrest of his wheelchair and coaxed it closer with a low, whirring sound. "Not polite to listen to other people talk. Daddy said so."

Dean's teeth clenched. "Shut, up, Four-eyes."

The kid tilted his head and gave an exasperated huff, but Dean ignored him, trying to catch more of the conversation.

"So what's this Dean kid like, 'sides looking like a freckled street urchin?" the older man asked.

Dean grumbled low in his throat. That prick! He better quit noticing how he looked all the time, the pervert.

John sighed. "Dean? He's a good kid, mostly. Listens to what I say. Got a mouth on him sometimes, like most teenagers."

"I noticed the puffy cheek. He give you some lip on the way here?"

John shrugged. "I'm training him to be a hunter."

I AM a hunter, Dean answered back in his mind.

"Got him running' scams with you?"

"He can hold his own."

"What are his issues?"

John frowned. "Issues?"

Bobby turned his cap around, the bill facing the back. "Yeah. Kid's no longer got a mother. Only has you."

"Thanks for the compliment, Bobby."

Bobby's face was impassive. "Call 'em like I see 'em."

The kid poked Dean's arm and whispered. "Can I see? Lemme see."

Dean turned the kid's wheelchair around, facing him toward a painting hanging in the foyer. "Look at this. Now be quiet."

The kid peered closely at the landscape scene, reaching out to touch a swan gliding on a lake. Dean resumed his spying mission.

"Dean...he never got over Mary...and the fire. He has trouble at night."

Dean's eyes opened wide. He felt like he'd been shot. John said he'd never tell. He promised.

Bobby nodded like he understood.

The kid ran over Dean's toes, probably on purpose. He grinned up at him. "Swan is white. Clouds are white. They match." He poked Dean's arm. "Hey. I saw you..."

Dean felt beads of perspiration run down his back. "Where's the back door? Where is it?" Maybe he could sneak past the men and hide out in the back seat. No way he was staying here. He was going with John.

The funny kid took his hand. "C'mere."

Dean followed him, trying to shake off his hand, but the kid held it in a death grip. Finally, they stopped at a glass patio door, and Dean swung it open. "Leggo!" he yelled as he yanked his hand from the kid's fingers. He ran as fast as he could around the side of the house, but he was too late!

John slammed the driver's door shut, and the Impala rumbled to life.

Dean tore after the car. He almost made it. His hands slapped the trunk, but John sped up, and he was left standing alone, watching the Impala become smaller and smaller, while he choked on a wave of black car exhaust. He tripped and fell to the ground, his heart pounding and his mind in disbelief. At the sound of footsteps he rose to his knees.

"Hey, kid..."

Dean saw red and pointed his pistol at the man called Bobby. He squinted his eyes and fired.

**A/N: This is my first Supernatural fanfic. Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and want me to continue. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much for the fav and follows. Special thanks to missingmikey, PriyaWinchester, moira4ek, IcyFoxWest for your reviews! Moira47ek: Dean was freaked out, hence his first impatient reaction to Sam. Although this is an AU, the essential Dean is still there. He's retained his compassion and will show it for Sam especially. The fire and the aftermath is a major part of his journey, so that part of the story will develop over time. Sam's mental and physical handicaps are due to the fire, and Dean won't know who Sam is just yet as he's busy trying to survive the events of this chapter!

Chapter Two

Bobby instinctively spun to his left as the kid pulled the trigger on his Smith & Wesson pistol. The bullet missed him by a fraction of an inch, and he could feel its velocity as it whipped past him. Pumped with adrenaline, he kicked at Dean's hand, and the gun went flying into tall grass.

Dean cried out and held his hand as he rocked back and forth. "You broke it!"

"What the hell are you doin'?!" Bobby yelled as he advanced toward the kid.

Dean kicked the heels of his motorcycle boots against the dirt, trying to establish some distance.

Bobby grabbed him under one arm and yanked him up. Dean tried to pull away, but Bobby had him in an iron grip. He couldn't believe he'd almost been killed by this brat. John had said he'd trained his son to be a hunter, and he surely wasn't lying about that. Only he was supposed to kill monsters, not people.

"Why are you so twitchy, ya scaredy-cat?!" Bobby spat out. "And where did you get that gun? Oh yeah. Your daddy, the felon. Chip off the old block are ya."

Dean's face was now a sweaty, whiter shade of pale. He didn't reply but kept turning his head around, looking, evaluating.

"I ain't no monster," Bobby said. "I'm a human being, and a nice one at that. Let's go inside and talk, man to man." He loosened his grip on Dean slightly, and the kid yanked hard and sprinted away, making like a bat out of hell for the fenced pasture.

Bobby watched Dean leap over the fence, heading for Maybelle, the old painted pony they kept as a pet. Bobby stomped his foot. "Balls!"

:::

Dean had a hard time climbing onto the pony. He kept slipping off as she tried to step away from him. He finally pushed one foot off the fence and flung himself on top of her. He dug his heels into her, and she screamed in protest, taking off and heading for the stand of trees in the distance.

Dean used his good hand to hold on tightly to the pony's mane, but she jiggled her enormous butt, attempting to knock him off her back. This was the first time he'd ridden a horse, and his only reference was the old Lone Ranger movies he'd watched on motel TVs. Too bad he hadn't paid more attention to Tonto's riding technique. He slipped to one side of the pony, then the other, wishing he had a saddle but unsure if that'd do any good since he was sweating like a freak.

The pony stopped abruptly, and Dean went flying over her head, landing solidly on the ground. She galloped away, and Dean laid there, feeling like every bone and muscle in his body was shouting in pain. He raised his head and saw the old guy climbing the fence and whistling for the pony. Dammit!

Dean pushed to his feet and then took off running for the trees. They seemed to shimmer and wave in his vision. He ran as fast as he could, tripping when his stomach suddenly twisted. He threw up all of the bile in his stomach. Not much was in there. He hadn't eaten or drunk much since yesterday morning. He could hear the pony's clodding gait behind him and took off again.

Dean felt the shade of trees envelop him, yet the air was so muggy it was like breathing underwater. He coughed repeatedly, having a hard time catching his breath. The interior of the woods was thick with vines, and he wished for a machete. His little knife hidden in his sock wasn't going to help him.

He had to keep going on, find the main road, hitch a ride and get back to John. Dean placed one foot in front of the other, but he kept stumbling around, unable to walk steadily. He needed to hide so he could rest awhile, maybe wait until dark to avoid the old hillbilly. He ran into a tree face first and decided he'd use the last of his energy to climb up high.

Dean snatched at the bark with his nails, ignoring the fierce pain in his hand and trying to find purchase on the mossy tree. He climbed one branch and then another, refusing to stop until he was about ten feet high. He hid behind the trunk and forced himself to stop breathing as the old guy entered the woods. He'd never been so dizzy in his life; his head wouldn't stop spinning, and black spots littered his vision. His fingers slipped from the bark, but he caught himself in time.

"DEAN!"

It was the old guy, stopping next to the tree he was hiding in. All of Dean's muscles tensed. Maybe he should leap out of the tree on top of the guy and duke it out.

"Dean. You're not in trouble. Everything's fine. Let's go back to the house. I don't want to leave my boy there by himself. You hear me?" The guy paused, looking around. "Dean! Come on now."

Dean heard a roaring sound in his ears, and his head dropped forward. His arms and legs started shaking uncontrollably, and he felt air rushing his face as he slipped from the tree limb.

:::

Bobby was stunned when he looked up and saw the Winchester kid falling headfirst from a tree. Dean soundlessly fell to the ground straight onto his stomach, his right arm cushioning his fall.

Bobby's heart pounded. "Holy mother of..." He knelt and patted the kid's cheek. Dean made a guttural sound of pain, and his eyelashes fluttered, but he soon lost consciousness. Bobby took his pulse, which was racing, and felt around Dean's neck and spine. No bones seemed out of place. He carefully rolled Dean over, and let out a tense breath at the sight of his arm. It was badly broken, and the kid would have a terrible shiner, not to mention a monstrous headache from the blow to his head, highlighted by the mass of blood flowing from his temple.

Bobby scooped him in his arms, surprised at how heavy he was. A chip off the old block. John was muscular, too. He hoped the kid would be out while he carried him back to the house because this really had to hurt something awful. He cradled Dean's head and neck to avoid jarring him any further.

Bobby didn't like the way Dean felt as hot as a furnace. Dammit. Heat exhaustion...or heat stroke. It was a typical delta Arkansas summer day, over one hundred degrees and high humidity. Dean might not be used to this climate. Bobby upped his pace as he gritted his teeth against the boy's weight. Poor Maybelle was in the middle of the pasture, avoiding all humans. He whistled for her, but she ignored him.

Dean frowned and squirmed. His lips worked, trying but failing to form a word. He gave a massive shudder and became dead weight.

Finally, Bobby gently laid Dean on the porch and raced for the garden hose on the side of the house. He sprayed the kid with cold water and frowned when the boy didn't protest. He managed to get Dean into the air conditioned house and laid him dripping on the kitchen floor. He ripped the tablecloth off the table and balled it up to elevate Dean's legs.

His son wheeled his chair right up to Dean. "Daddy? What's wrong with him? He's all wet."

Bobby stroked his son's hair. "Sam, he had an accident. Fell out of a tree. Would you get me some frozen vegetables from the bottom freezer? As many as you can find. I need to make a phone call."

Bobby paced as he dialed 911. "I need an ambulance! A boy fell out of a tree and broke some bones. He might also have heat stroke. He's unconscious. Send someone quick! It's the Singer farm off route 33. No, it's not Sam. It's...a visitor. A fourteen year old boy. Hurry!" He hung up the phone and watched Sam piling frozen vegetables into a pyramid on top of Dean's torso. "Here," Bobby said. "Let's place these a little differently." Bobby stuffed vegetables under Dean's arms, around his neck and groin.

"Sam, he's going to the hospital. I'll have to drop you off at Mrs. Henderson's. Okay?"

Sam frowned and crossed his arms. "No. Going with you."

Bobby squatted and looked directly into Sam's eyes. "Son, this is serious. I don't know how long we'll be there. I don't want you to get bored or upset."

Sam pointed at Dean. "He's cold. See?"

Bobby's heart sank when he saw Dean seizing on the floor. He rolled him onto his left side. "Don't touch him, Sam. I'm going to get a thermometer."

"He stopped," Sam said when Bobby returned. "Looks dead. Like that possum on the deck."

Bobby read the thermometer after it beeped and cursed under his breath. "One hundred and five. Kid, you're giving me a heart attack. Where the hell is that ambulance?!"

:::

"Boy's name?" Sam asked as Bobby buckled him into the mini-van. They had to hurry to meet the ambulance at the county hospital.

"Dean."

"Like that cooker lady? On TV?"

Bobby chuckled. "Paula Deen?" Leave it to Sam to lighten the mood.

"She his mama?"

"Nah. He don't look nothing like her."

Sam nodded. "She fluffy. Mommy says that's nice for fat. Fluffy."

Bobby grunted a response. "A stick 'o butter a day will do it to ya, kid."

Sam's mouth opened and closed. He frowned as he played with the seat belt's shoulder harness. "I...I dunno."

Bobby glanced at him. He had such an easy rapport with his son, but sometimes he forgot Sam couldn't process certain concepts. Sarcastic humor was difficult for him to understand.

"Why are you so interested in Dean?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dream. He was in my dream."

"What did he do in your dream?"

"He smiled. And laughed. And...and...he called me Sammy. I don't like it. Not my name."

Bobby felt a chill run over him. This was entirely strange. Sam never told him about this dream. What in the world was going on?


	3. Chapter 3

I appreciate everyone who's reading this story and letting me know you're enjoying it! Special thanks to moira4eku, Icyfox west, and Guest for your reviews! Moira4eku: I see Sam as being somewhat psychic, so his dream of Dean could be both past and future. Sam's so smart he does retain some of his analytical bent even with the oxygen deprivation he suffered. I thought it'd be fun to watch the brotherly relationship grow even before they find out the truth. The adults will need to be careful how they tell the boys.

Chapter Three

He was in a dense fog. His body was floating or maybe rolling. There was noise surrounding him: disembodied murmurs, metal clanging, and then a loud, jarring bang and whoosh of something swinging open. He was hot...then cold...then hot.

He opened his mouth to say 'John,' but nothing came out, only a dry, raspy sound. He couldn't breathe and started panting for air at the overwhelming, fiery agony filling his head and body. His limbs were shaking, and he couldn't stop them. Bad hunt. He was all alone. No one was coming to help him.

Suddenly, he was lifted in the air and came down hard. Hands were on him, pulling at his clothes. Voices shouted, jarring his nerves, and he reacted by trying to punch them. Pain in his right arm shot out like fireworks. When he punched harder with his left arm, he connected with something soft, which swiftly moved away.

Dean tried to escape by rocking back and forth. He kicked at any sound nearby. There was the sensation of sliding, falling, and then the weight of heavy hands holding him down.

A loud voice called his name. "Dean! Dean!" But, he didn't have the strength to answer or even open his eyes.

He couldn't evade the pain that pricked him in a bunch of places, and his heart beat faster as his dizzy head was lifted and something cold shoved up his nose. He made a sound like a wounded animal whimpering.

"Breathe through your nose. Deep breaths," a stern voice commanded him. John?

Dean tried to obey. "Good. Good boy," the voice said.

Light flooded his eyes when his eyelids were lifted, but he couldn't see. Just blurry shapes moving. He rolled his eyes around; nothing would focus. Was this a bad dream? Where was he?

Fear invaded him until he felt a gentle hand take his and squeeze. He caught a whiff of familiar perfume and relaxed. Mommy? He tried to smile as tears pricked his eyes.

A hand stroked his cheek like a warm whisper. "You're okay. You're okay, Nothing bad is happening. We're trying to help you."

A sharp cramp hit his stomach in a horrible knife-like slash. Bitter, metallic fluid filled his mouth. He choked and hacked, but there was little fight left in him. He was drifting downward, heading toward a dark, quiet place.

:::

Bobby paced in the ER waiting room, removing his cap and replacing it, over and over. It'd been three hours since the ambulance had arrived, but no news yet.

Sam was in a corner, playing with his GI Joe dolls, making explosion noises and flinging the dolls into the air. His son laughed loudly. At least he was occupied playing war and had stopped asking questions Bobby couldn't answer.

Ellen walked into the room, and all of his tension faded. He rushed up and hugged her tightly.

Ellen pulled back and looked worried. "Any news?"

Bobby shook his head.

"John just dumped Dean and ran?"

"Yep. All this happened so quickly. Dean wasn't on the farm but an hour, and I'm callin' for an ambulance."

Ellen brandished a pill bottle and shook it. "I found this in his duffel bag. It's a prescription. Don't know what it's for."

Bobby took the bottle and stared at the label. "Don't recognize the name of it. Must be a generic."

"The kid has hardly any possessions," Ellen added. "No books or electronic gadgets a boy his age usually owns. And, his clothing is in terrible shape. We'll have to buy him a whole new wardrobe."

Bobby quirked a smile. "We? As in you don't want to throw Winchester Jr. out on his ear?"

"I'm a little worried about the gunfight at OK corral."

"Probably was the heat stroke. Makes the mind go wacky."

"Mommy!" Sam barreled his wheelchair over to Ellen and threw his arms around her. He buried his face in her stomach, and she kissed his hair. "How's my little man?"

"Bored. Missed you."

"Look what I have," she said.

Sam snatched the coloring book from her hands. "Crayons," he demanded.

Ellen searched her purse and handed him a box.

Sam huffed and frowned. "Want the big box."

"The big box stays home. The small box is for traveling."

Sam shrugged and wheeled away.

"You're welcome," she called to him.

Sam didn't turn around but gave her a thumbs-up.

"Why did he insist on coming here?" Ellen asked. "He loves staying with Mrs. Henderson."

Bobby shrugged. "Got a bug up his..." Bobby trailed off when he saw the look on Ellen's face. "Correct that. He made himself a new friend in under five minutes. He said he MUST know how Dean is doing. Something about seeing him in a dream."

Ellen chuckled. "And you believed that."

"No reason not to. Sam's not a liar."

A man in a white coat approached them. "Bobby, Ellen."

Dang, it was a small town. Everyone within thirty miles knew them by first name. He'd sold this doc a used car for his daughter's sixteenth birthday. "Jim," Bobby said. "How's the kid?"

The doctor sighed. "Not good. You got him here just in time. He's definitely suffered heat stroke, and there are neurological and other complications. He's being moved to the ICU."

Bobby's eyes bugged. "He's that sick?"

The doctor nodded. "He's been put on a ventilator. He was incoherent and vomiting blood. We had to secure an airway. His kidney function is poor, too. He'll be started on dialysis."

"What about the arm?"

"It's his arm, wrist _and_ hand," the doctor said. "That's why it looked so bad. It was a simple reduction, though. They'll put a cast on once the swelling goes down. He also has a hairline fracture of his left patella, that is, his kneecap. He has a knee brace on it."

Bobby blew out a tense breath.

Ellen handed the pill bottle to the doctor. "This was in the boy's luggage."

The doctor inspected the pill bottle and shook his head. "It's a neuroleptic. No wonder he has heat stroke."

"Translation?" Bobby sighed.

"It's an anti-psychotic. This type of medication reduces a person's ability to adjust to heat."

Bobby grimaced. "Well, why's he takin' such a drug?"

"It's for mental illness," the doctor said. "I'll call his prescribing physician and see if I can determine his diagnosis."

Bobby and Ellen looked at each other. One of Ellen's eyebrows rose.

"Were you able to contact his parents?" the doctor asked.

Bobby shook his head. "Nope. His mother's deceased, and his father is on a hunting trip. Real remote location. Can't be reached."

"We helped Dean because it was a life or death emergency," the doctor said. "But, we'll need permission from his legal guardian to continue treatment."

Ellen opened her mouth to respond, but Bobby cleared his throat and squeezed her waist. "We have a signed document at home. Didn't think to bring it as we were caught up in the drama."

:::

Bobby followed the doc to Dean's ICU room. He almost lost his bearings when he saw the kid. He gripped the end of the bed and willed his knees to hold him upright. Dean was covered in the best that medicine had to offer: heart monitor, tubes up his nose, breathing apparatus, catheter on his chest, a splint on his arm, dialysis machine, and IVs with clear fluid and blood. "He can't feel good with all that stuff connected to him," Bobby said.

"He's alive," the doctor replied. "The longer he survives, the greater the chance he'll recover. Dean will require invasive monitoring for at least two days. I'm concerned about permanent complications, but we'll take one step at a time."

Bobby pointed to the line of stitches running from Dean's hairline down his temple. "Did he have a bad concussion? I was worried 'bout that."

The doc shook his head. "Only a mild concussion. He was lucky he avoided a more serious head injury. His broken arm cushioned his fall. He must have scraped his head on a twig or rock."

Bobby cleared his throat. "Jim, did you talk to the physician who prescribed those pills? What's going on? Will he need to take them while he stays with me and Ellen?"

"He went to a free clinic in Minnesota. His father complained about Dean's sleepwalking and night terrors."

"But does he need that heavy duty drug? Won't he outgrow those problems?"

"The father also mentioned his son's propensity for violence."

Bobby snorted. He recalled the swollen bruise on Dean's cheek and the way John had kicked him while they were talking. Hell, John Winchester and violence were kissing cousins. Any problems Dean had were tied to John. He was sure of it.

"Let's see how Dean does without the drug. You might need to contact a psychiatrist if you notice any serious behavior problems."

Bobby glanced at Dean once more before he left. The kid seemed pained even though he was probably sedated into a deep sleep. Worst thing was, he was completely still, unlike the rapidly moving boy he'd encountered hours ago.

He felt a twinge of sadness. To be honest, he'd felt a glimmer of hope when John dumped Dean. This was Sam's older brother, whom Sam hadn't seen since he was a tiny baby. Maybe they could form a relationship. Bobby was no spring chicken. Sam could use someone else to look up to in the coming years and a brother to protect him.

But, it was going to take a lot of love and attention to bring this boy back to normal. He seemed neglected if not outright abused by his father. Bobby didn't trust John as far as he could throw him. Tomorrow he'd do some research and find the jerk. He had to tell him what happened to Dean. Question was...would he care?

:::

Ellen washed her hands before preparing dinner for Sam. She still smelled like the metal and gunpowder from Dean's pistol, which she'd spent half an hour searching for in the grass at the side of the road. It was now safely locked away in Bobby's gun cabinet.

She knew her husband had a big heart for kids, especially abandoned ones, but why had Dean reacted so violently toward him? She wasn't sure it was just the heat stroke messing with the kid's brain. She'd met plenty of whacked-out hunters, but this was the first hunter wannabe she'd heard of who shot first and asked questions later. And Dean was only fourteen. Did John raise his kid to hunt people as well as monsters?

She was so glad both she and Bobby had decided to abandon the hunting lifestyle, marry, and settle in Arkansas, far away from bad memories. Sure, there were monsters out there, but their life on the mini farm was safe. Love went a long way to blocking the evil in everyday life.

She'd fallen in love with Sam the moment she laid eyes on him. And, she still chuckled at the memory of a freaked-out Bobby asking the only female hunter he knew for help. He had no idea what a six month old baby needed. Jo had been a young girl enamored of dolls and now this living doll with hazel eyes, a ready smile, and special needs. It was like the stars crossed, and a new family had been born. Nothing but happiness since.

Ellen heated up a can of spaghetti and meatballs, one of Sam's favorites. He didn't like much meat, but he'd eat this. Sam preferred vegetables most of all, while Bobby insisted on a cave man's diet. In fact, she was going to grill some steaks that were marinating in the fridge after Bobby came home.

Poor Bobby. He'd taken the day off to finish some projects around the house and then kick back with a beer and Sam. Those two were the best fishing buddies. Bobby enjoyed hanging out with his son more than the guys at the car dealership. But, best laid plans...

Their lives were carefully scheduled around their jobs – hers as secretary to a school principal, and his as owner and general manager of the local Ford dealership. Sam spent mornings with Mrs. Henderson. Two afternoons a week a physical therapist came to the house to help Sam exercise. What in the world were they going to do when Dean left the hospital?

:::

Bobby sat down on the couch and lifted Sam to sit beside him. Sam curled into his father and sighed happily.

"I heard you ate all of your dinner," Bobby said as he hugged him. He pinched his nose. "Even those stinky vegetables."

Sam made a face and shook his head. "Nah. They good. I like green stuff. You like pigs and cows."

Bobby laughed. "I like pork and beef. That's whatcha eat."

Sam poked Bobby's side. "You eat pig tail and hooves. Ick."

"Do not."

Sam giggled. "Do too!"

Bobby tickled Sam until they were both out of breath.

"Love you, Daddy," Sam whispered.

"Love ya back," Bobby whispered.

"Can I watch my videos?" Sam asked sweetly.

"Did you do your chores?"

Sam nodded. "Yeppers."

"Feed the dog?"

"Uh huh."

"Pick up your toys and put them in the basket?"

Sam made an exasperated face. "Do ya see any?"

"Okay then. You can watch your cartoons for an hour. After that, it's bed time."

"Skip bed."

"Nope."

"HEY!" Sam said. "How come you didn't let me see Dean?"

Bobby felt his face flush. "He's real sick right now. He can't talk. Wouldn't know you were there. Let him rest until he's up to visitors."

"Don't know 'bout that."

"We'll see him soon."

"I'm gonna dream about him ALL NIGHT!"

Bobby smiled. "You do that. Maybe it'll help your...er...maybe Dean will know yer thinkin' about him."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to everyone who gave this story a fav/follow/review. babyreaper, Ellen knows the boys are brothers, and they'll start bonding this chapter!

Chapter Four

Bobby's hunter skills of deception were a little rusty, but he managed to produce a signed document giving him the right to make decisions for Dean's health care in John's absence. John would have produced a fake insurance card, but Bobby had to live here, not run off and evade the bill. Just one more thing to worry about besides the fact the kid's prognosis was uncertain.

Ellen followed him into Dean's room, and the two silently held hands while they watched the ventilator breathe for the unconscious boy.

"He doesn't look like Sam," Ellen whispered.

"More like his mother probably."

"We have no idea what he's like as a person."

"He was defensive, maybe cowed down by John. I'd say he has a potty mouth...and John's hot temper."

Ellen grinned. "Oh great. Lock up all the sharp objects in the house."

"Unfortunately, John threw it in my face that Sam isn't legally ours. We'll need a lawyer so we can adopt him. John has no interest in Sam, but I ain't lettin' him play games."

A nurse interrupted them. "I need to draw blood and check on his equipment."

Bobby nodded toward Dean. "Has his condition improved? He doesn't look any different from when I last visited."

The nurse nodded. "His condition has been upgraded from critical to fair. Not stable yet, but he's making progress. If his blood work improves, the respiratory therapist will wean him off the ventilator."

Bobby waved toward the bed. "So he's not in a coma? Ain't seen him move an inch."

The nurse shook her head. "He's been sedated, but he's not in a coma. That's a good sign."

Ellen ran her hand over Dean's hair. "Let's give the nurse room to do her job. Dean, honey. I'm Ellen Singer. Bobby and I will be back to visit later."

:::

Bobby turned his cell phone off and ran a hand over his face. "Dammit!"

"Can't find John?"

"That man is more squirrelly than...well..."

Ellen's lips twitched. "A squirrel?"

Bobby rose from his desk in the study. "I've spent all day calling every hunter I know, and no one in the hunting community has heard from John in months. Everyone said he was only doing the occasional salt and burn. Then, he up and vanished."

"Do you suppose he was in jail?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "See, that's the thing. I can't find record of John's arrest or incarceration."

"Is he lying about that?"

"Probably. I gotta find that SOB, regardless. He's gonna sign off on Sam's adoption, and he might want to know what happened to his eldest."

"But he dumped him here," Ellen said. "He didn't care about him." She frowned when Sam crept up from behind and rammed his wheelchair into her. "Hey, Sam. I don't like it when you hurt me with your wheelchair. Apologize to me."

Sam's eyes rolled behind his huge glasses. "Sorry, Mommy. But, I need a question."

When Ellen nodded, he yelled, "When I'm gonna see Dean!?"

"Maybe later on today."

Sam made a face. "But, I gotta!"

"Sam," Bobby said. "Now, we talked about this."

Sam shook his head many times. "I gotta, I gotta, I gotta..." He faded off, blinked rapidly, and then his head dropped down.

Bobby scooped him up. "Clear a space on the couch!" he yelled.

Ellen pushed aside a few magazines, and Bobby gently laid the boy on his side. "Sam," he called as he shook his shoulder. He placed his fingers on the boy's wrist and nodded when he felt a strong pulse.

Sam's eyes remained closed as he trembled.

Ellen looked scared. "What's happening, Bobby? He's never done this before!"

Bobby scooped Sam up again. "We're goin' to the hospital. Not takin' any chances. Blast this bad luck."

:::

Sam started coming around in the hospital exam room while they were waiting for a doctor. His head nestled on Ellen's shoulder, and she hugged him when he rubbed his forehead and whined.

"Myyyy head hurrrts. Wh...wheremi? Mommyyy...Daddyy..."

"Are you awake, Squirt?" Bobby's voice boomed from across the room. His gaze met Ellen's. "You were takin' a long nap there, son."

Sam squirmed and nearly fell off his wheelchair. "Stop talkin'! Head explodes!" He took in shaky breaths as tears filled his eyes. "Sick, Sick."

"Shhhh," Ellen murmured. "The doctor will find a way to stop the pain. Someone will be here soon. Can you hold on for a few minutes?"

Sam sobbed. "Pictures. I see. Too many pictures. Go 'way. Make 'em go 'way!"

Bobby lowered his voice. "What are you seein'?"

Sam sounded tired. "Dean. Sad. Scared. Pain." He hiccuped and wrapped his arms around Ellen's neck. "Why he in that scary, white room?"

"There's that connection again," Bobby said.

Sam closed his eyes and sucked on his thumb as he shivered.

Ellen smoothed his hair. "He's in shock," she whispered to Bobby. "Is it possible he's sensing what Dean is feeling?"

Bobby stroked his beard. "Maybe. I'm gonna visit Dean after we find out what's going on with Sam here."

A woman wearing a white jacket entered the room. "Bobby. Ellen." It was Sam's pediatrician. "The front desk called me when they saw my name on Sam's records. How is he today?"

Ellen spoke up. "He was extremely upset and then became unresponsive."

"He has a friend in the hospital," Bobby added. "He's in ICU, and Sam unfortunately saw him after he was seriously injured. He's been concerned ever since."

Sam didn't notice the adults talking around him. He huddled in his chair and whined when Bobby lifted him to the exam table. He slammed his fists repeatedly against his skull after the doctor did a quick checkup.

"Words," the pediatrician said gently. "Use your words to describe the pain."

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times before saying, "Bomb in head. BAM!" He hit his head again, and the doctor took his wrist and set his hand down.

"His ears look clear, no temperature or infection. We'll do an EEG just to rule out anything serious. It seems he's regressed," the doctor said as she watched Sam begin rocking and sucking his thumb again. "Perhaps it's the emotional ordeal. I'll order him an analgesic to help the pain."

:::

Dean was aware of cold air brushing his skin, sending a chill through his whole body. He tried to sit up and pull a blanket over him, but he could barely move. His right arm hurt terribly, so he tried to lift the left one, but it only raised a few inches and then flopped down uselessly.

He opened his dry lips and tried to say, "John." He choked and panicked when he couldn't breathe in. A hand shook his arm, and when he opened his eyes, he was in hell.

White flooded his vision, and he squinted at the brightness. He was assaulted by weird noises whooshing, beeping, and clicking. There must have been four people surrounding him, and one thing Dean couldn't stand was people invading his space. He swung his heavy, throbbing arm at the woman directly in front of him.

Hands were on him, and he pulled and yanked away. He bit down on the tube in his mouth, and that's when the fun started.

"Cough," he heard a woman yell at him. "Cough." So, he did. A tube slipped from his throat, and it was replaced with sharp, scratchy pain. He couldn't breathe! Every time he tried it felt like tiny knives stabbed him. He choked and wheezed, desperate to get more oxygen.

Dean started sliding off the bed. His legs flopped down, and his bare feet banged on the cold floor. "John, John, John!" he shouted, but it sounded like a thin, reedy whisper to his ears. How could John save him if he couldn't hear him? Dean marshaled all of the strength in his body, but he couldn't gain his footing. He thrashed wildly, trying to evade these strange people who wanted to hurt him."GET OFF ME. JOHN!" he screamed as loudly as he could.

:::

Bobby entered the room, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

He quickly scooted behind Dean on the bed and pulled him to his chest. He immobilized his arms, and the nursing staff were able to place Dean's legs back onto the bed.

Dean struggled and moaned when the respiratory therapist placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He drew in deep, gulping breaths that ended in a soggy cough. Blood lined his teeth when he grimaced.

"You gonna give him a sedative?" Bobby gritted out. "Kid's strong."

A nurse left the room and another said, "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Medic in Vietnam. I've seen plenty of teenagers wounded and scared outta their minds." He felt sorrow welling up in his chest as his memories took him back several decades. He could tell Dean was terrified and not thinking clearly if at all. Kid was running off of pure adrenaline.

Dean bucked up and threw his head back, making Bobby see stars from the wicked head butt. "Damn you, Winchester," he grunted. "Settle down, ya idgit."

A nurse finally returned with a full syringe. She carefully injected its contents into Dean's IV.

Bobby's cap was on the floor, and his sparse hair was sticking up. "Not a minute too soon," he said.

Alarms went off as several cardiac leads popped off of Dean. A thick line of blood trickled down Dean's chest where the central IV had dislodged. "He's a mess," a nurse said.

Bobby nodded. "In more ways than one." He gently placed Dean on his back after the kid sighed and dramatically lost all muscle tone. "What a day," he said, wiping his brow. "I'll take some of what ya gave the kid."

:::

Sam passed his EEG test, except the frontal lobe portion of his brain was slightly overactive, nothing to be concerned about.

Bobby wheeled Sam into Dean's ICU room with Ellen following close behind. Ellen placed her hand on Sam's shoulder and whispered in his ear. "You need to talk quietly. Dean's had a rough day. We can only stay for a few minutes. Those are the rules."

"Rules," Sam said, nodding. "Do this. Not that." So, he promptly forgot Ellen's first rule and shouted, "HI DEAN!" He knocked on Dean's cast. "Knock, knock, who's there?"

Dean was lying on his back, still and silent. His eyes opened half mast, and he smiled when he saw the huge eyes staring at him, only inches from his face. His lips tried to form a word, but he fell into a coughing fit.

"I'll round up some ice chips for you," Ellen said. "Your throat must hurt. Don't try to talk, sweetie."

Bobby patted his son on the back. "Sam has been real worried about you. Insisted on visiting, even though he's technically too young to be here."

Dean didn't reply. He closed his eyes and grimaced as he swallowed. He flexed his fingers and groaned softly.

Sam peered intently at him. "Hair messy."

"So's yours," Dean croaked. He held his throat. "Aw, shit..."

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Sam cried.

Ellen entered the room with a great sigh. "What are you teaching my son, Dean?"

Dean looked pleased with himself.

"Try a few ice chips?" she asked.

Dean accepted them and seemed to relax.

Sam escaped his father's grip and rapidly wheeled to Dean's other side. He picked up Dean's arm and held it to his own. "Daddy, Daddy. Dean's like me!"

Bobby frowned as he went to retrieve Sam. He stared at the two arms, both marred by old burn wounds, a combo of red and white rippled skin. The wounds intersected perfectly. Dean's overlapped Sam's and spread over a wider area. It was a protective wound, one he must have received covering his baby brother.

Bobby felt his eyes tear up, and he coughed them away. "Dean needs his rest, kiddo. Time to go."

"NO! Sick person. Gotta pray."

Ellen smiled when Bobby glanced her way. She waved at Sam. "It's okay."

Sam folded his hands together, and his face tensed as nearly a minute went by. "Um...God...is great. God is...good. Let us thank him...for our food. AMEN!"

Dean made an amused sound under his oxygen mask. He patted Sam's hand. "Thanks, Four-eyes."

Sam stuck his tongue out. "Welcome, Girl-hair."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews/favs/follows. It keeps the gas in my tank, lol. Keep reading. There will be fun and excitement to come. Plus, I will solve a mystery about Dean that's never been sufficiently handled on Supernatural.

Chapter Five

Dean's eyes rolled around, searching for a way out of this trap. A wave of terror welled up inside him, but he tamped it down, refusing to let these monsters get the best of him. He was never alone, always surrounded and tied down in their lair. Where was John? He kept shouting for him. Maybe they'd gotten him, too. Every time a monster approached him, he bared his teeth and hissed to make them keep their distance.

The wraith bent over him, her face a twisted mess of hollow eyes and ropey, decayed cheeks. "We need to disconnect your equipment so we can move you to a regular room. You want to leave the ICU, don't you?"

Dean trembled as he watched her unhook a needle sticking in his arm. A fat drop of sweat ran into his eye. What was in the next room? What were they going to do to him? They'd already drained him of his blood. He didn't have much left.

Two large, muscled men hovered in the doorway, and the wraith murmured to them in a low tone. The men's eyes focused on him, and he could swear they flashed black. Demons!

Dean made a strangled sound and decided to rush for the door. Maybe he could ram through them and sprint so fast they couldn't catch him. Last chance! He leaped out of bed, grabbed a pitcher of water and slammed it against the wraith's head, causing her to shriek. Dean's left leg surprised him when it dragged slowly, and he pitched forward, his full body weight smacking against one of the demon bodyguards.

Both men shouted. One raced to help the wraith, and the other turned to follow him.

Dean hopped the best he could with extreme velocity, ignoring the catch in his lungs and the pain shooting everywhere else. His vision blurred as he raced past a bunch of people or monsters, whatever they were. He stumbled into a wall when his consciousness dipped. Damn. He didn't have any backup. He needed help. "JOHN!" he screamed. The sound echoed in his ears, and people stopped and stared.

The weight of Dean's cast dragged him down. "No, no," he whispered. He had to keep moving. His feet would barely take commands, but he limped forward as his head nodded.

Dean felt a heavy hand grab him around the waist. He turned into a kicking machine, and his elbow followed suit. He heard the demon grunt in pain. Dean smirked and rammed his knee into its groin. He only made it a few steps before he was tackled. His head slammed against the floor, and he cried "FIRE!" When that didn't work, he screamed, "RAPE! RAPE!"

:::

Bobby sat cap-less in a hospital administrator's office. He smoothed his hair and cleared his dry throat. All he'd been told over the phone was that Dean was presenting a liability to the hospital, and Bobby's presence was immediately requested. What the hell had the kid done now? He was going to have to give his assistant manager a huge raise because he'd hardly been at his dealership since John dumped Dean on his farm.

He let out a huge sigh as he glanced around him. He sensed trouble in the anal retentive office décor, complete with a framed diploma to a half-assed university. Where was this guy anyway? His temper flared whenever people kept him waiting on purpose.

"Mr. Singer?" a man asked as he strode into his office, hand outstretched. "I'm Jackson Brown."

Bobby's eyebrows rose. The guy was very short. Napoleon syndrome no less. Bobby held his hand out, but he refused to rise from his chair. Two could play this game.

The man sat in his desk chair with a flourish. "Dean Winchester needs to leave this hospital immediately. He assaulted both a nurse and an orderly this morning. He seems to be...er...a bit disordered in his mind. We cannot allow our employees to risk treating your..."

"Child of a friend," Bobby said. "I'm his legal guardian."

"Yes. Well, Dean has been placed back on his psychiatric meds."

Bobby felt his face flush. "I gave no permission for that."

The administrator ignored him. "Either Dean is transferred to a juvenile psychiatric facility two hours north of here, or he goes home with you. And, there's the matter of payment for services rendered. How would you prefer to pay? We accept both cash and credit cards."

Bobby gritted his teeth. "I'd really like to..." He shook his head. No sense arguing with the buffoon. "My home-owner's insurance will cover part of the bill. Whatever's left is your responsibility. Seeing as you're a county hospital."

The man grimaced. "I'm afraid we don't see it that way."

Bobby rose from his chair. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice. The child comes home with me. My wife and I will pick him up. Have him ready to go, including instructions for his care. Good day, Mr. Brown."

:::

Bobby couldn't believe his eyes when he entered Dean's ICU room. The kid was practically tied down to the bed with straps around his waist and neck plus restraints on his ankles and wrists. Even his huge cast had a strap around it.

"What's that injury to his head?" Bobby asked, pointing. There was huge, swollen bump above Dean's eyebrow, not far from his stitches.

A male nurse he'd never met startled at his tone of voice. "Oh. You're...?"

"Bobby Singer. I'm Dean's legal guardian, and I want to know what the hell is going on here. Why's the boy worse off than I left him? I know why he's tied down, but for the love of..."

"It's for his own good," the nurse said. "We can't have him taking off again. He fell and hit his head."

"You sure it went down like that? Looks like he tumbled out of a tree again. Takes some velocity to receive a head wound that severe." He didn't like the way the kid was pale and panting. Looked like he wanted to be sick but was too wiped out to manage it. Dean's arms and legs twitched a few times when Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't open his eyes.

"I don't have all the details, just told to watch out for any assault or escape attempts. He screamed once about demons, though. Part of his psychosis I suppose."

"He'll be leaving soon," Bobby said. "Comin' home with me."

"You sure you want..."

Bobby made a face and snarled, "Don't question me! I'm 'bout as annoyed as I'm willin' to be. You think the kid's too much for you, you ain't seen nothin' if you rile me up." Bobby's eyes narrowed and he said, "Christo."

"Huh?" The male nurse held up his hands and retreated to a chair in the corner of the room. He sighed and shook his head, his blue eyes remaining their natural color.

"Dean?" Bobby asked gently. He felt his stomach drop when the kid just moaned in response. "Can you open your eyes? Try for me."

Dean's eyes fluttered open, but then he immediately squeezed them shut. "My hhheaaad," he breathed out. "Hhhurtsss."

"What happened?"

"D...dd...demon."

"Were you hit? Did anyone punch you?" Bobby had a mind to strangle whoever had hurt Dean. Kid looked in terrible pain.

Dean took in several shaky breaths before he screwed up his face again and tried to answer. "T...tack? Tack me."

"Tackled you?"

Dean tried to nod, but he cried out when his head slightly moved.

"Has he been seen by a doctor?"

The nurse shrugged. "I don't know. Just started my shift."

"What are you, fresh out of clown college?! Go read his chart!"

Dean gave a loud grunt, and then all of his muscles tensed.

Bobby loosened the strap on Dean's neck. "He's seizing! Help me get these restraints off." Blood started foaming and dripping from Dean's tightly closed mouth. Damn, Bobby thought. Must have bit his cheek or tongue. He could choke on himself!

The two men were able to free Dean before he started thrashing around in the second phase of his seizure. Bobby glanced at the nurse as sweat trickled down his face. "Are you timing this, ya jackass?" He shook his head and waved at the man."I'll do it. Go get a doctor."

:::

Bobby sat at Dean's bedside and stared at the kid. He'd been totally asleep while having a CT scan and MRI, and he had yet to wake up fully conscious. It was normal after a seizure, sure, but Bobby's leg kept jiggling as he sighed and adjusted his ball cap. Too much stress these past few days. If he didn't stop worrying about John's kid he'd lose the few hairs he had left on the top of his head. Good thing Ellen told had him bald was sexy. Something about testosterone.

"Mr. Singer?"

Bobby looked up at the one doc he hadn't met in this town. He stood up quickly. "What's the news? Did you see anything on the x-ray?"

The doctor nodded. "He has a contusion on his brain where he recently hit his head. It stopped bleeding, so he won't require treatment for that. But, the MRI is a different story."

Bobby felt his stomach drop. "What kind of story?"

"Has he had repeated head trauma in the past?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. He's had a physically active life with his father." Bobby thought back to the fire. "I know of at least one incident."

"Let's see if we can wake Dean and ask him a few questions."

Bobby gently shook the boy's shoulder, and Dean's eyes flew open. He tried to scoot away but sighed instead and laid his head back down.

"The doc needs to know some information," Bobby said. "Can you focus for a sec?"

Dean frowned and pulled at the nasal canula giving him oxygen. "Wh..aat?"

The doctor introduced himself and asked, "Dean, have you hit your head before? I mean, in the last few years?"

Dean grimaced. "Sure."

"How many times?"

"Ummmm."

"Please try to remember. It's important."

Dean looked confused. "May...maybe...ten times. Or...more."

Bobby felt a CPS sized thrill of fear. He definitely had to get him out of here soon.

The doctor frowned. "Do you space out a lot? Has anyone ever told you that?"

Dean was silent for a moment and then gave a lopsided grin. "John t...told me. Space cadet. That's what he called me." Dean drew in a deep breath and coughed several times.

The doctor patted his knee. "Close your eyes and rest. Mr. Singer and I will talk in the hallway."

Bobby felt more than his share of trepidation as he followed the man out of Dean's room. "Why did you ask him about spacing out?"

"It's a form of seizure. It manifests as a person blanking out, staring at nothing. With the trauma he indicates, I'd say Dean has post traumatic epilepsy. His MRI showed scattered scar tissue in the brain."

Bobby felt his face grow red. "Epilepsy? Did it get worse because he fell and hit his head recently?"

The doctor nodded. "Likely."

"How long does he have to stay in the hospital? I mean, we planned to take him home today before all this happened." Bobby clenched and unclenched his hands. The hospital sure wants him gone.

"Overnight. We'll start him on medication. He'll be observed to ensure he doesn't have another seizure."

"Is this serious?"

"Can be. But, with the right medication, it should be controlled. He'll have regular appointments to monitor his progress. I'll leave you with literature to read. It'll educate you on the disease and explain when and if he needs emergency medical attention."

Bobby scratched his head. "Sounds like you're planning on emergencies."

"He might have more seizures. It's possible."

:::

Sam rolled up behind Ellen and smacked his hands on the armrests of his wheelchair. "Mommy!"

When Ellen turned around, she almost laughed at how intense Sam's eyes were. "What, Sweetpea?"

Sammy frowned. "I am people. Not PEA!"

Ellen turned Sam around and wheeled him to the living room. She sat on the couch and gently squeezed both of his hands. "No shouting in the house. I can hear just fine."

Sam's face turned red. "House too full. People bring too much stuff."

Ellen smiled. Sam had a hard time processing any change. He liked things in the same place, day after day. "Those deliveries are for Dean. He's coming home to stay with us for awhile. You like Dean. Aren't you excited?"

Sam shook his head. "No room. I want my table back."

"We're placing a bed in the dining room. That's where Dean will stay for now. He can't walk well, and I don't want him to trip on the stairs."

Sam smiled and pointed his thumb at his chest. "I don't walk neither."

"Then you and Dean will have that in common. Are you going to use your good manners and welcome him home?"

Sam nodded furiously. "I like Dean."

"Dean likes you, too. I hope you two can have fun."

Sam grinned. "I like fun." One of his eyebrows rose. "You gonna give Dean chores?"

Ellen shook her head. "Not right now. But, when he's feeling better, we'll talk about it. Everyone pulls their weight around here. That's what families do."

:::

Dean was slumped in a wheelchair with his eyelids fluttering and head nodding down. Ellen tried to keep him upright as she and two male orderlies made their way to the waiting van. Dean had caused a brief ruckus when the men assisted him into the wheelchair. Ellen never wanted to hear the words, "f*cking demons," ever again.

Bobby hopped from the driver's seat and held his hands out for Dean. He grabbed Dean under his arms, and the orderlies took his legs. Dean grunted and struggled briefly.

"Good luck," one of the orderlies said as he stepped back on the curb.

Ellen shook her head. "Yeah. Right." She groaned and took a seat in the back of the van next to Dean, whose head was leaning against the window.

Bobby's face screwed up. "Who pissed in your cornflakes?"

"Forget it," she snapped. "Let's go!"

Bobby tipped his cap. "Yes, ma'am." He hopped back inside and started the van.

Dean grumbled and swatted at Ellen's arm when she fastened his seatbelt.

"Ow. Stop that. Come on. Sit up." He sure hit hard for a sick kid.

"Did you load up all the medical paraphernalia we need?" Ellen asked. They should have transported Dean by ambulance, but Bobby had insisted on driving.

"Yep. Packed up in the back."

Dean yelped when he pulled his head upright, away from the window. He held a trembling hand over his face.

"Are you in pain?" she asked. Dean didn't reply, but when she removed his hand, he flinched. She saw a solitary tear sliding down his freckled cheek before he could turn away. He coughed and cleared his throat, acting like that's why his eyes were teary.

Bobby looked in the rear view mirror. "It'll be about twenty minutes to home. Can you make it okay?" He shrugged when Dean ignored him.

The road was in terrible condition, and the van jolted when it hit one pothole after another. Dean clenched his teeth and said barely above a whisper, "Can you stop doing that?"

Bobby glanced back. "Sorry, kid. There's too many to avoid." Before he could turn his eyes back to the road, he ran over an especially deep one. "There goes the suspension," he tried to joke.

Dean moaned in response.

Ellen placed a folded towel on her lap and patted it. "You can lay your head on my lap," she offered. "It might help if your head hurts."

"No. I'm fine."

"Well, both of my kids have been car sick on occasion. It helps to lie down."

Bobby yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left as he swore at the bad road. "There's a huge piece of pavement just sittin' in the center of this lane," he said.

Dean held his hand over his stomach and carefully placed his head on Ellen's lap.

"Better?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible.

Ten minutes later, Ellen panicked. "Bobby! Pull over. He's trembling real hard, and I can't wake him up. Hurry!"

Bobby skidded off the side of the two lane highway. He opened the van door and leaned in. "Dean?" he asked. "Can you hear me?" He pulled up one of Dean's eyelids and saw his eye moving like crazy. "Seizure," he said. "Must be the stress of the car ride?"

Ellen laid a hand on Dean's back. "Should we take him back to the hospital?"

"Ideally, he would have stayed for a few more days. The doc said it might take awhile for the meds to be up to full speed." Bobby shook his head. "Kid's one step away from CPS and a foster home. I'm afraid we're gonna have to deal with this on our own."

Ellen bit her lip and looked at her husband. "I don't know if I can handle it. I'm scared."

Bobby sighed and adjusted his cap. "Know what ya mean, darlin'. I ain't feelin' so pretty myself."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the review, 0000. You made my day! This chapter highlights the protective, loving family that is forming around Dean and their struggles with his problems. Next chapter will feature a lot of Sam/Dean and maybe a little fun?

Chapter Six

Bobby kicked the front door aside as he carried Dean into the house. Ellen followed, holding a soiled towel away from her. The foyer filled with the sounds of Dean's gasping breaths.

Bobby walked quickly to the converted dining room and placed Dean on the bed that replaced the table in the middle of the room.

"He needs to go back to the hospital," Ellen said.

Bobby ignored her and and tapped the boy on the cheek. "Dean," he said. "Wake up." He shook the kid's shoulder. "Come on, son. I want to talk to you."

When Dean didn't respond, he pushed the vomit-matted hair from his face. The kid looked horrible, like he'd been in a car wreck. Dark smudges under his eyes contrasted with his pallor and the large red bump on his forehead. One eye was flaming colors and nearly swollen shut, and his cheeks were sunken. Bobby noted his dehydration and then looked at his eyes. Normal, no more seizures.

"Do you think he can drink?" Ellen asked as she peered at Dean.

"We need to try and give him somethin'. Do we have any bottled water?"

"There's a few in the fridge."

"Bring me one, and how about those moist wipes by the sink. He's a mess."

Ellen glanced at the dripping towel. "Yep. He is. I'll be back in a minute."

Bobby propped up Dean and held his head upright.

Dean's left hand made a weak fist.

"That's good, Dean. I'd rather have ya angry than unconscious." Bobby accepted the bottle from Ellen and gently poured a trickle of water into Dean's slack mouth, just enough to tease him into wanting more.

Dean gagged, and the water flowed down his chest.

"Try," Bobby said. "You need to drink some water. Just swallow." He lightly stroked Dean's throat, and the kid cautiously made a motion to swallow. "Okay, a little more," Bobby said. He poured a more generous amount. The water puddled in Dean's mouth, a small amount escaping again. Bobby closed Dean's mouth, and instinct made the boy accept the water. When Bobby got about a quarter of the bottle into him, he stepped back and sighed in relief.

A few seconds later, Dean shivered and then vomited the water all over the bed.

"Dean! I can't give you your meds if you can't keep 'em down."

Ellen felt an 'I told you so' forming on her lips, but she bit back the harsh words. "Why don't you bring in all of the supplies, and I'll clean him up. He has a bag full of prescriptions. Something in there should help."

Bobby's eyes lit up. "Good idea. Back in a minute."

Ellen turned to Dean. She carefully wiped off his face and was surprised when his nose wrinkled at her touch. "Coming back to the living?" she asked. She wondered why he wore his hair so long as she attempted to clean and untangle it. She didn't peg John as a man who'd allow his son to look unkempt. Was he too cheap to buy Dean a haircut?

Dean's chest rose haltingly. It didn't seem like he was breathing well, sort of struggling to get enough air. He made a soft, keening sound just in time for Bobby to wheel in an oxygen tank.

"He needs that," Ellen said, pointing. She patted Dean's chest. "Help's here," she said to the boy. "Just hang on."

Bobby quickly set up the tank and placed a mask over Dean's face. "We don't have the equipment to monitor his pulse ox, but it won't hurt to give him a little, regardless."

Dean relaxed when he breathed in the oxygen. He sighed and allowed his head to sink into the pillow.

Bobby wrestled with a white, plastic bag and produced a series of pill bottles and small boxes of medicine. He squinted as he looked at one after another. "Nope, nope," he said, shaking his head. Finally, he said, "Aha," as he flipped over a small box in his hand. "Bingo." He showed it to Ellen. "For the treatment of vomiting."

"They really thought of everything," Ellen said.

Bobby pulled the pack of medicine from the box. "That's 'cause they don't want him back." He snorted when he read the directions. "Exactly what he needs, but..."

"What now?"

Bobby shook his head. "He doesn't need to drink any water for this, but I'm afraid Winchester Junior will have to suffer a little indignity."

Ellen frowned and glanced at what was in Bobby's hand. Oh. Suppositories. "I'm going to sort through the mail in the other room. Have fun, darling."

Bobby threw the empty box at her swiftly retreating back. "Sweetheart, you're as warped as a dog's hind leg!"

:::

It felt like he'd slept for a hundred years. He was woozy, dull and thick. Dean tried to open his eyes, but the room spun around faster than he could process, so he just gave up. He breathed in deeply, and his lungs felt cold. Where was he? He heard a rustling sound nearby, but this didn't seem like a hospital, and it smelled like furniture polish? Some kind of vague food scent in the background? His stomach reacted quickly, and he cried out softly when it cramped.

"Dean?" he heard a deep voice say. He reacted by jabbing his good arm out weakly, missing his mark. He suddenly felt fear and anger welling up in him, and he croaked out, "Christo!" He repeated it over and over. Black, black, the eyes always turn black. He couldn't see, but he felt it. Where were his weapons? He needed his knife, his gun, and...

He frantically pawed at the air, rocking on the bed, trying to gain momentum to leap out and attack this monster. He smacked his cast hard against a metal rail and entered a world of pain. He steeled his face and gave a grim smile at what? A wendigo? But, it didn't smell like death and decay. He moaned, "Lemmego..." as he hoisted a leg over the rail and tried to vault over the side of the bed. His energy was spent, and the leap turned into a slow slide that toppled him to the floor.

Dean's cast, shoulder, and cheekbone cracked on the hardwood floor, and his dizziness turned into a deep tunnel that threatened to pull him under. "Sonofabitch..." he panted. His left hand pushed against the floor, but he couldn't get up. His whole body was quivering and limp as a noodle.

"Dean! What are you doing?!" Hands grabbed him, and his head lolled to one side, the effort too great to look up.

Dean gave the monster a feral grin before he breathed out one shaky word. "Escaping."

:::

Ellen ran down the stairs in her teeshirt and sweats, her hair gathered in a loose ponytail. "What the hell is going on? It's two in the morning. I heard a huge crash. Um...Bobby?" The bed was bare. Where was Dean?

A hand waved at her from the other side of the bed. "We're down here. Junior tried to flee. Didn't work out so well. He's out of it, but at least he's not screaming or hitting me."

"Oh, God," Ellen said when she saw the scene of the crime.

Bobby held Dean firmly and hoisted him onto his shoulder. Dean's head flopped down, his long hair flowing down Bobby's shoulder. "Kid started coming around and freaked out. He's still in demon mode."

Ellen made a circular motion near her temple. "Do you think the seizures...well...make him kinda crazy? It seems like his behavior turns bizarre every time he has one."

"Could be." Bobby positioned Dean so he was comfortable. Dean muttered something, and that was encouraging. Maybe. No doubt it was a four letter word. Bobby replaced the oxygen mask over Dean's face and dug through the supplies in a large, dark bag.

Ellen hovered nearby. "What are you looking for?"

"Supplies to set up an IV. He has to be totally dehydrated by now. And, I'm looking for an injectable pain killer. Knock him out and fill him with fluid. That's the plan."

Ellen waved at the bag. "They don't like to give out...heroin and all that."

Bobby gave her a huge grin and chuckled. "Nope. No heroin in the bag. Might have to send you downtown to look for a dealer."

Ellen crossed her arms. "Ha ha, Bobby Singer. You have a smart mouth."

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "All the better to charm you." He laid the IV supplies on the bed and looked some more in another bag.

"What else can we do? I'll get some more water."

"Make it warm," Bobby said. "Might go down easier."

When Ellen returned, Bobby peered closely at Dean. The kid didn't seem unconscious, just totally devoid of any energy or awareness. His lips were forming words no one could hear, and he kept frowning and gripping his casted arm.

"Kid must be in pain," Bobby said. "He fell on his broken arm."

"What kind of pain meds did they give us?"

"Some good stuff," Bobby said. "Injectable in the IV."

"Can he have a sedative and pain meds together?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nope. We're not aimin' to kill him...at least not yet. Although, get back to me on that one."

Dean twisted around on the bed. He hit his cast once again on the bed rail, and he made a sharp hissing sound.

"He'll hurt himself worse if he keeps this up. Feed him that water, wouldya." Bobby gently placed Dean upright, being careful not to jar his head.

Ellen held the glass to Dean's lips, and Dean made a face and turned away. She lowered Dean's jaw and poured in a generous amount.

Dean spewed out the majority of it. Water flowed out of his nose, and he made choking noises.

"Ya tryin' to drown him?"

"Shut it, Singer!" Ellen yelled. "I'm doing the best I can."

:::

Dean felt crowded, smothered. Voices invaded his ears, but he couldn't follow or understand. Fear curled inside him. He had to get out of here. He didn't want to die. He had to kill the monsters. He'd fix it.

Air rushed his face as he was lifted from the bed. They're gonna eat me! Tear off my face. Gnaw on my bones. His hand flexed. No. Gotta get...

Water rushed into his face and mouth, and he couldn't breathe, drowning, heaving lungs. Water, water.

He barked out a short, strangled scream. Something was placed over his mouth, and he heard the words, breathe, calm down, you're okay, breathe.

Air distracted him, swirling around his nose and mouth.

His lungs pulled hard, and his mind raced. Can't think. WhereamI? Who's...who's. I dunno. Help...gotta call...

A hand held his arm down, tying a rope around and smacking it; there was a cold and wet sensation and then sharp pain. His back arched against it, and he tried to pull away, but his arm was held tightly. His whole body jerked with the desire to escape. Knife, gun, knife, stab, shoot...where'sit? John's angry. Why are you in this mess, you runt? No...don't. John? Don't leave me here...don't leave me!

He let out several drawn out sobs and then stiffened. Don't. You better stop. Gotta be strong. No.

Someone sat next to him and gently pulled his hair back. A thumb wiped the moisture from his face. "Shhh. Relax. You'll feel better soon."

Dean sighed and nestled into her, his head on her chest. She rocked him, and his mind slid down and down, the warmth surrounding him. There was no more pain, yet she still held him and rocked.

:::

Ellen blew her nose on the fifth tissue she'd grabbed in the last half hour. She squeezed the tissue box in her lap and choked back a sob.

Bobby wrapped an arm around her and held her close. "Junior is sleepin', and the IV is givin' him fluids. He's gonna be fine."

Ellen glanced at him, her red rimmed eyes still brimming with tears. "He thought I was his mother. I could tell because he acted young and sweet and just so damned sad. It's breaking my heart. He...he reminds me of Sam in some ways. There's something familiar about him. I just can't stop thinking about Sam being abandoned. And now Dean?"

"Dean is with us," Bobby reminded her. "We're not abandoning him."

Ellen shook her head. "Maybe he _would_ be better off with CPS. At least he'd be back in the hospital. I'm not sure we're doing right by him, just...having him stay in our dining room in a rented medical bed. I know you were a medic, but that was decades ago, and he's far too ill to be here."

"No. He's not going to a foster home. No way. Never."

"But, he needs help."

"And, he's gettin' it! The visiting nurse will stop by in a few hours. She'll check him out and give us advice."

Ellen softened her tone. "He's not you, Bobby. That was a long time ago. Things have changed."

"Not takin' the chance." Bobby's mother had died when he was ten, and his father had turned to drink. He'd been practically a slave to the family that took him in. All he'd known were beatings and less food than he'd needed. The goats and sheep on that farm were treated better than him.

"I'm sorry," Ellen said. "I know you were hurt. I hate seeing kids hurt." She waved her tissue. "Hence my bawling fest."

Bobby ran a hand over his face. "Been on my own since I ran away at sixteen. Would have been better off if I'd had proper schooling."

"You're successful. I'm proud of you,"

"Money's not the only thing in life."

"Of course. But, you have Sam and Jo, and they love and respect you."

Bobby kissed her hair. "Thanks to you. You're a wonderful mother, and I'm grateful to have you for my wife. I love you, Ellen."

Ellen laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you, too, Bobby."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favs and follows! It means so much to me. I really appreciate your feedback for this story. This is a long chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven

Dean was sleeping soundly, tightly curled up in a ball, when the visiting nurse entered the dining room with Bobby and Ellen.

"Dean, honey," Ellen said. "Wake up." When Dean didn't stir at all, she repeated herself louder, but he didn't react.

"Dean!" Bobby barked.

Dean flung himself as far away as possible from the loud voice. When he turned his head left and right, he looked scared and unfocused. His hand shot under his pillow, but it came back empty.

"Wheresit?" he choked. "I want my knife! Where's my knife?" Dean's eyes narrowed, and he sneered at Bobby. "You took it. Give it back!"

Ellen intervened. "It was packed up with your clothing at the hospital. We threw away the clothes because they were soaked in blood. But, we have your knife. It's kept in a drawer in our gun cabinet. We need to protect Sam, don't you agree?"

Dean's mouth hung open. "You threw my jeans in the garbage?!"

"Hope they weren't your favorite pair," Ellen said. "But, I think you're referring to your cash? I set that aside in an envelope. I can buy you a wallet if you want."

Dean frowned. "What's a wallet?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Dean, the nurse is here to give you a checkup and see how you're doing. The rest of this can wait."

Dean held a pillow over his face. "Go away," he mumbled.

Bobby yanked the pillow away from him, and Dean simply covered his face with his arm.

"Would ya stop bein' a baby?" Bobby growled. "Enough of this. Sit up and answer the nurse's questions."

Ellen raised the head of the bed, and Dean glanced at her from the sides of his eyes. He grit his teeth when the nurse took his wrist. Dean halfheartedly yanked his wrist away, but one look at Bobby's face, and he settled down.

"Just taking your pulse," the woman said cheerily.

Bobby sighed. She'd been warned about Winchester's bad temper, but he was sure to hate her fake tone of voice. One glance at the kid's sour expression proved him right.

"How much have you had to eat or drink since you left the hospital?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothin'."

"He can't keep anything down," Ellen said. "We tried water several times, but no success."

Bobby nodded. "Gave him the IV. He's been asleep for a couple of hours. The painkiller probably helped."

The nurse inspected the IV. "Still looks good. He'll need some dextrose if he's not eating." She frowned when she listened to Dean's lungs. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap. They tried to drown me."

"Don't make me wish I had," Bobby replied. He gave his cap an especially harsh adjustment.

"Breathe in deeply," she said.

Dean tried, but he flew into a violent coughing fit, and when he stopped, the nurse took his temperature. "One hundred," she said. "I'm hearing congestion in his lungs along with the fever. He might be developing pneumonia. It's not uncommon in patients who've been intubated. He needs to be in the hospital."

Dean kicked at the bed rail. "F*ck it! I'm not going." He kept kicking until Bobby lowered it out of fear the kid would damage both the bed and his one good leg.

Dean ripped out the IV, hopped out of the bed and promptly turned pale and unsteady on his feet. He started sinking to his knees, but Bobby eased an arm around him, helping him slide down the wall and sit on the floor. "I'm not goin' b...back," Dean stuttered. "I gotta see John before...before he goes to prison. I gotta find him." He hugged himself and rocked. "I gotta go. I gotta GO!" He lowered his head, and his hair hid his face.

Bobby squatted down in front of Dean and raised the kid's chin to look him in the eye. He carefully lowered his voice to be soothing, not accusatory. "Dean, I'm tryin' to find your daddy. We haven't had any luck yet. Do you have any idea where he might be? Where were ya living before you made the trip here?"

Dean's eyes turned glassy and distant. "It was cooler. Not as hot." He held a hand to his forehead and started panting. "He won't talk to me anymore. But, he needs me. I wanna go to prison with him. We can be together. It's my fault. It's all my fault. Stupid. Stupid!" Dean lowered his head to his knees and rubbed his hair back and forth; it seemed to comfort him. He made a few gulping noises to hold back his tears.

"Shh. Shhh," Bobby whispered. "Let's not go confessing in front of the women folk." Bobby recalled the clinic that had prescribed Dean's pills. "What's the name of the state where you were stayin' with John? Is it up north? Maybe the Dakotas? Or Minnesota?"

Dean looked up and frowned, seeming utterly confused. "What? I...I dunno. I never heard...uh...what?" He cautiously glanced around him and started shivering. "Who are you? Where am I?"

The nurse rounded the bed and said, "We need to get him off the floor." She held her hand out to Dean, yet he was staring into space, unresponsive. She patted him on the shoulder, but he didn't react.

"Yeah, the kid's looking greener than gourd's guts," Bobby said. "More than a little dazed and confused."

"I'll get Sam's spare wheelchair in the garage," Ellen said. "Dean shouldn't try to walk with that broken kneecap."

Bobby snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. "Kid, no need to shut down on us. There's nothing that can't be fixed. We'll find your daddy soon. I promise."

A minute passed. Dean flinched and seemed more alert. He stared down at his massive cast as if he hadn't seen it before. He startled when the nurse took his arm and Bobby rose from the floor. "Hey," Dean said. "Hey!" He jettisoned himself away from them with a speed that made Bobby blink in surprise.

Dean's hands slapped on the floor as he dragged his legs behind him. He huffed and puffed as he made progress in escaping the adults.

Bobby chuckled. "Where ya goin', hotshot?" He glanced down at the hardwoods where Dean had been sitting. "Oh," he said. Winchester Junior had left behind a small puddle of urine. Now, that had to be embarrassing. Dean's reaction seemed to be fleeing the scene of the crime.

Ellen wheeled up the non-mechanical wheelchair. Bobby caught Dean by the back of his shirt and lifted him into the chair.

He leaned in and whispered to Dean. "Your secret's safe with me. Let's scram and head tor the toilet." Bobby glanced behind him. "Ladies, we'll return in a minute. Got some manly stuff to attend to."

When Dean reached the bathroom and was lifted from the chair, he gave Bobby a pointed look after the older man stepped in with him.

"Don't give me that. Ya need some help," Bobby said. "Ya only got one workin' arm." When Dean refused to reply, Bobby grumbled. "I'll close my eyes, help you with your scrub pants, then you call me when you're done. Deal?"

Dean used his hand to balance himself against the sink as his head hung down. A thin trail of blood slowly rolled down his arm and pooled under his palm.

Bobby pulled down his scrub pants and hightailed it out of the room. He pulled the door closed until it was only open a crack.

"Shut it!" Dean yelled.

Bobby groaned. "Yes, Princess." He tapped his foot for what seemed like forever. Finally, he leaned in to the door. "Need some help, son?" He frowned when there was no answer. Bobby knocked on the door. "Dean? Are ya okay, boy?"

Another minute went by, and then a loud bang shook the whole wall. Bobby tried to open the door, but it was blocked. When he pushed harder, he saw it was Dean, lying twisted on the floor. Bobby quickly pulled him away from the ceramic tile floors. He pulled his pants back up and turned him on his side.

Ellen and the nurse rushed up. Bobby rubbed his head and blinked back a few tears. "He's doin' it again. Havin' a seizure."

Ellen grabbed towels from the bathroom and laid one under Dean's head and the other under his lower torso while the nurse looked at her watch, timing the seizure.

Ellen gently squeezed Bobby's arm. "He wasn't able to take his epilepsy meds," she reminded him. "It's not your fault. We'll figure this out."

Bobby just shook his head as he stared hard at the trembling boy.

"Three minutes and twenty seconds," the nurse said abruptly. "He's finished. Let's get him back to bed."

Bobby positioned him in the wheelchair, and Ellen supported his head. She held the towel under his face just in time as Dean began retching and vomiting bile. "I n'd m'...Jjjohn," Dean slurred between spasms.

Bobby smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead. "My God, he's killin' me," he said. "Kid's fallin' apart without his daddy, and there's nothin' we can do about it."

:::

"Now why did you take Dean from the hospital?" the nurse asked.

"They kicked him out," Bobby said. "He attacked several of their employees."

"So, his mental health is compromising his physical health," the nurse concluded.

"Seems like it," Ellen said. "No one's quite sure what is going on or if he has a real diagnosis, other than he is in and out of psychosis. Sometimes he's rational and sometimes not. I think you saw this just a few minutes ago."

"There's a hospital in Little Rock that specializes in treating children with both physical and mental illnesses. The staff is trained in both areas. Would you consider this? If so, I can help you forward his medical records and arrange transportation. At any rate, he needs immediate hospitalization. If not there, then somewhere else. He's not going to hold up much longer if he has an infection and isn't able to eat or drink or take medications."

Bobby stroked his beard. "We could turn this into sort of a family vacation, don't ya think, Ellen? If we bring Sam with us, we could stop by the zoo and a few other tourist spots. Maybe take Dean on a short trip or two if he's up to it. And, I can call Harold to care for the animals while we're gone."

"My boss said take as much time off as I need since the students are on summer break."

Bobby placed an arm around Ellen. "Little Rock it is. I'm on my way to pick up Sam from Mrs. Henderson's."

Ellen gave him a kiss. "I'll pack while you're gone!"

:::

Dean's eyes fluttered open at the approach of a suspicious whirring sound. He heard, "Dean, Dean," and turned to the sight of Sam peeking at him from the living room doorway. "Whatcha doing, kid?" He tried to clear his throat, but his voice was scratchy and barely audible.

Sam said, "Go, boy. Say hi to Dean."

A huge black dog bounded into the dining room and leaped directly on top of Dean.

Dean tried to yell, but the dog smothered him with kisses all over his face and then laid his head on top of Dean's chest.

"Wha...what the hell?" Dean tried to push him away, but the dog must have weighed a hundred pounds.

Sam wheeled up to Dean's bed. "He's my dog. Daddy says he's part wolf."

"Why do you have a giant black dog? They'll kill you then lick your bones. They like that."

Sam looked proud. He came closer and petted the monstrous dog. "He loves me. I feed him and give him water." He giggled when the dog gave his hand a tongue bath.

"Well, what the hell is this thing's name?"

"Dog, not thing," Sam corrected him.

"And the dog's name is?"

"Anubis!"

"Anu...what? Anal-bees?"

Sam looked cross. "ANUBIS!"

Dean smirked. "Anu-butt?"

Sam smacked the armrests on his wheelchair. "You make me mad!"

Dean held out his hand. "Aw, Sam. I'm sorry, kid. I was just teasing you."

Sam frowned and moved closer. "What is teasing?"

Dean gently ran his hand over Sam's hair. "It's just a way of having fun. You say something the other guy doesn't expect, take him by surprise. You can tease me, too, if you want. Or, if you don't like it, I can stop."

Sam's eyebrow rose. "Teach me to tease."

Dean stroked the dog's ears. "Hmm. When you called me girl-hair back at the hospital? That's teasing. Because you know I'm a boy. Yet you called me a girl."

"I never seen a boy with hair like that."

"Well, there you go."

Ellen entered the room and held her hands on her hips. "Sam. Dean doesn't want to sleep with the dog. Call him off the bed."

"Anubis!"

The dog lifted his head and promptly jumped off the bed. He circled Sam's chair and licked him once on the arm then trotted away.

Ellen shook her head. "Sorry, Dean."

"Yeah, his breath is straight out of hell. But, he's okay. I guess."

"Sam, Dean needs his rest. Come help me pack."

Dean felt disappointed. "Can Sam come up here and keep me company?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically and displayed his deep dimples. "Yeah! Please?"

"Well, okay. If that's what you want." Ellen lifted Sam to the bed, and the kid swiftly nestled under Dean's arm.

"Bring me some books," Sam said.

"Dean, I have to warn you. He has tons of books, and he's going to bug you every minute of the day to read to him."

Dean bit his lip and didn't say anything.

A minute later, Sam laid out six books on top of Dean and took a moment to select one. "I like this," he said as he opened a picture book full of pirates and treasure. He propped the book on Dean's chest and pointed. "Read."

Dean sighed and turned to the first page. He turned more pages and noticed it was mostly mostly mean looking pirates, treasure and scared looking girls. "Um. I don't know, Sam. My eyes are kinda blurry, and I don't feel so hot."

Sam ignored him and pointed at the book. "Read."

Dean flipped through the book again. "I'm gonna make up my own story. But, you can turn the pages for me, okay?"

Sam's eyes lit up.

"So. Once upon a time, there was this really, really pretty girl..."

Sam pointed at the frightened maiden.

"Yeah, her. Anyway, she was kinda stuck up because everyone complimented her all the time. But, a mean pirate dude heard about her and decided to kidnap her 'cause she had to be worth a million dollars. He was gonna sell her to some wicked king or something."

"Ooooo," Sam said. "This is better than when Daddy reads to me."

Dean jostled Sam's shoulder and smiled. "The girl had a big, black dog named Anu-butt. He was so angry at the pirate he bit his toe, and the pirate hopped up and down and cursed and cursed."

"I bet he said shit," Sam whispered.

Dean looked down at Sam. "You remember that?"

Sam nodded. "You taught me how to cuss. Made Mommy mad."

Dean cracked a smile. "So now, the pirate stole all of the girl's kittens. She had over a hundred of the things."

"Can we call the girl, Jo? She's my sister. She likes cats."

"Sure. Well, Jo took all of the money out of her piggy bank. There were trillions of coins in it. Enough to buy the universe. That was ransom. But, the pirate gave all of the kitties back for free 'cause he didn't have a thousand litter boxes, and his castle started stinking real bad. Plus, he slipped on cat shit and hit his head on the stairs. He was pissed. Real pissed."

"Is that a cuss word?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, but don't say it around your mom."

"Okay."

Dean coughed hard. "That's the end, Sam." He yawned and blinked his eyes.

"Read one more?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Sorry. Not today. I'm tired. You wanna take a nap?"

Sam pushed the books away and hugged Dean. "Yeah. You tell the best stories, Dean."

"What do you say?"

"Um...thanks?"

Dean nodded and patted his head. "Yeah, that's good. Real good."

:::

Ellen held a finger to her lips as she pulled Bobby to the dining room. "You have to see this."

Bobby looked through the doorway and cracked a grin. Dean and Sam were sound asleep, arms wrapped around each other. "I'm gonna get the camera," he whispered to Ellen. When he came back, the boys were the same, and he snapped a few good shots.

"This is what I was hoping for," Ellen said. "Dean's good for him."

Bobby nodded. "Sam seems to calm him down."

"Maybe Dean's trying to be a role model?"

Bobby smiled. "Except when he's teaching him bad words."

Ellen sighed. "Sam must have said 'shit' a hundred times on the way home from the hospital."

:::

Bobby woke up Dean. "Ambulance is here. They'll load you up, and we'll follow by car. The drive should take about two and a half hours. And, look, kid. I know you were spooked by some things at the other hospital, so I made some hex bags for ya and a few other items to ward off any monsters or demons. I know it's been ten years since I used to be a hunter, but I understand, okay? I'll make sure you're safe. You can trust me."

Dean rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

"I'm tryin' to find some doctors who are familiar with huntin', so I'll let you know when I locate a few." Bobby looked behind him at two men wheeling in a stretcher. "They're ready to load you up. Be good, okay. They're just doin' their job."

The men lifted a groaning Dean from the bed and packed the IV beside him. They looped a nasal cannula under his nose and covered him with a blanket.

Ellen gave Dean a kiss on his forehead. "Are you okay?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes looking panicked. "I don't feel good. My chest and stomach hurt so bad."

"That's why we're taking you to the hospital, sweetie. They'll find out what's wrong."

"I wanna stay here. With Sam."

"That's what we want, too. You'll be back soon."

Dean gulped when one of the men injected something into his IV and the other fastened two belts around him. He pulled at the restraints and tried to buck up and off the stretcher. "No. Don't. No!"

Ellen took Dean's hand. "Honey, they're giving you some medicine so you'll sleep during the trip. They have to put seatbelts on you to make sure you don't get hurt or fall off the stretcher. That's all it is."

Dean's eyes remained wide and fearful, and he turned his head away.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry for the late post. Real life intervened, and I wasn't able to write for awhile. Thanks for your reviews and comments. You guys are great! Poor Dean suffers a lot in his journey, but it's all designed to lead to a happy ending. Promise!

Chapter Eight

Dean woke up half an hour before the ambulance's destination. His eyes were still closed, but he kept trying to remove the straps securing him to the stretcher. "Can't breathe," Dean whispered. "Hurts." His face looked strained, and his voice was hoarse.

The attendant had to bend down to hear him. "He feels he's not getting enough air. Let's raise the head of the stretcher." The man checked the oxygen flow given through the nasal cannula, and it was at the prescribed amount.

Dean settled for awhile until he began coughing so much it seemed he could hardly breathe in.

"His pulse ox is dropping," the other man said. "Lips are turning blue."

Dean gave an especially hard cough, and blood trickled from his mouth. His skin was clammy when his pulse was taken. "He's in tachycardia. Tell the driver to turn on the siren!"

:::

Bobby looked at Sam in the rear view mirror of the mini van. "What's your favorite animal, Sam-I-Am?"

Sam shrugged and continued to color in his book. "All are good."

"So, does that mean you like a possum as well as a bear?"

"Don't like dead possums...or dead birds...or...stinky dead worms."

Bobby chuckled. "Gotcha. Just the live ones, right?"

Sam nodded and frowned as he tried hard to color inside the lines of a building.

"What's a monkey sound like?"

"Oooo...ooo...ooo," Sam replied. "They laugh so hard. And like bananas."

"We're going to the zoo on this trip. Are you looking forward to it?"

"Thinking about coloring, Daddy. Not zoo."

Bobby glanced at Ellen and cracked a smile.

"I packed your swim trunks," Ellen said. "We'll be swimming at the hotel pool. I know you enjoy swimming."

When Sam didn't reply, Bobby said to Ellen, "I think we're the ones who want a vacation."

Ellen started to answer him, but she pointed at the ambulance in front of them. "Bobby! What's happening? They turned the light and siren on."

The ambulance took off, rapidly accelerating beyond the speed limit.

Bobby fumbled with his cell phone as it vibrated on his hip. "Get that," he said to Ellen.

She took the phone, and her face fell as she listened.

Bobby's eyes widened. "What? What?!"

"It's an emergency. Dean's coughing up blood and having trouble breathing. They called for a police escort to the hospital."

Bobby floored the gas pedal. "He's gonna give me a heart attack. Kid never does things halfway, does he?"

Ellen turned to the back seat. "Sam's busy coloring. I hope he doesn't notice we're going ninety miles an hour!"

"Weeeeeeee!" they heard Sam cry out. "I like this. Faster! Go faster."

:::

Dean was wheeled from the ambulance; noise and chaos surrounded him. When he was picked up on a blanket and transferred to a table, he grimaced and yanked the nasal cannula from his nose. His chest rapidly rose up and down, and he felt suffocated, like someone was sitting on his chest. He shook so hard his teeth chattered. He jerked up and gagged, feeling more bitter tasting blood dribbling down his chin, coating his neck. The lights were so bright, yet he was fading out; little squiggly lines jumped across his vision.

Hands grabbed his wrists, forcing him to stop squirming around and dislodging medical equipment. A thrill of anger rippled up his spine at the tearing sound of his scrub shirt being cut off. He freed one wrist and grabbed a man's hair, giving him a nasty head butt. He snatched the scissors away and rolled off the exam table. He screamed when he staggered and his knees hit the hard floor. Waves of burning pain frightened him, making him scoot back into a corner, holding the scissors up in a defensive position.

Dean's eyes widened at the quick motion of people racing toward him. He jabbed at approaching feet, making them hop and dance away. "Moonwalk!" He laughed until he wheezed and spit blood on the floor. One person decided to approach again and Dean yelled, "Step back! I'm gonna kill you!"

His body sagged against the wall. "John," he whispered. "John?" Longing welled up in his heart. He just wanted a hug, for someone to tell him it was all right, to take him home to a soft bed and a cup of soup. He didn't remember anyone ever doing that for him, but he wanted it anyway. Ellen had been nice to him once or twice, but he didn't belong to her. He was alone. All he could do was fight to survive, and now he was too tired to care.

Dean glared at the eyes of people silhouetted in the bright light. He made a low, keening sound full of despair. No one loved him. He couldn't do this anymore. Fighting, killing the monsters. He was going to die. He choked up when he realized he wanted to die. With all his heart. It was the only thing he could have in this world. His hand suddenly opened, and the scissors clanked to the floor.

They rushed in, took advantage. He flinched and covered his face so he wouldn't be hit. Their grips were firm, transporting him back to the table. They wanted to hurt him, and he let them. He shivered and tried to curl up on his side, but he was manhandled onto his back. Questions flew around him. He might have heard his name called, but he didn't respond. It didn't belong to him anymore. He was nobody. He wasn't Dean, and he wasn't a Winchester. He hadn't passed any of the tests. John still hated him, maybe always hated him. His life was over this time. For good.

His chin was grabbed. Light flooded his vision. Someone tried to look in his eyes, but he let his focus drift and turn foggy. He entirely let go, and his awareness slipped away; he didn't exist. He could no longer feel anything.

:::

Dean heard a loud whooshing sound he couldn't ignore. It sounded like the blades of a helicopter, only softer. He frowned as he felt the room swirl around and around. The ceiling parted, and a white wing appeared in flight, clearing the open area. Air rushed him, and he felt a stroke of two fingers on his forehead. He blinked as he watched her descend above him. "Dean." He grew rigid when he saw her blond hair and pretty features. "I love you, Dean," she said. He tried to rise and join her, but she held a hand up. "Stay, son. I want you to live."

:::

Bobby couldn't sit still. First he paced, then he picked up toys, examined them and put them back down. This place sure was kid friendly with the brightly painted walls and cartoons playing on mounted TVs. There was even a fish tank taking up nearly a whole wall. Sam would love that. He was too busy playing now, yet he was sure to be bored soon. The boy had disabilities, but his innate intelligence lurked beneath the surface. Sam went from one thing to another on a typical day, always seeking something new.

Bobby let out a deep, calming breath. Most people around him weren't obviously stressed, and he didn't want to share his anxiety.

A nurse entered the area and called his name. Bobby glanced at Ellen. "I'll go back. You stay with Sam."

First thing Bobby saw when he entered the ER exam room was a janitor mopping up blood on the floor and a thin streak of blood clinging to Dean's hair. A blanket snuggled the boy from his feet to his shoulders. Bobby stepped aside as a portable x-ray machine was pushed out the door.

"Dean?" The kid didn't move or recognize he'd entered the room.

A man in a white coat approached him. "Mr. Singer?"

Bobby pointed at Dean. "Is he okay? They told me he was coughing up blood? Is he unconscious? Why is he just lying there shakin'?" Bobby knew he was rambling, running off at the mouth, but his emotions were shutting down the logical part of his brain.

"We've just confirmed that Dean has pneumonia. Bacterial pneumonia can hit hard and fast, especially if he's been weakened or his immune system is down."

"The heat stroke," Bobby said.

The doctor nodded. "He's receiving IV antibiotics and should feel better in a day or two." He walked over to Dean and lifted the blanket to show Bobby an IV in Dean's mid arm and one in his leg. "He's damaged his veins by ripping out the IVs multiple times, so we can only use one location on the arm. He needs two large bore IVs in case he has a massive bleed. He's stable now, but it's possible at any time. We chose a site on his leg for this reason." The doctor pointed at Dean's knee, which was swollen and misshapen. "In his efforts to escape, he fell hard on his knees. Since the bone was already cracked, it shattered. He'll require surgery on it after he recovers from the pneumonia."

Bobby shook his head. "Kid's a danger to himself. Acts first and repents at leisure. But, what's this about a massive bleed?"

"It's not likely, just a caution. We were able to suction out most of the blood from his throat. The pulmonary consult should be here soon. Dean probably burst a small blood vessel or has a tear that needs repair. Sometimes patients cough too hard or forcefully vomit."

Bobby stroked his beard. "He's been doing both."

"I'm concerned about his mental status. He's displaying signs of abuse. You're listed as his legal guardian. How long have you known Dean?"

Bobby stiffened. Here we go. Lies and more lies. "Met him when he was about four years old. His daddy and I are acquaintances. Ex military. Winchester went on a long trip, and Dean's staying with us. It's only been a week since he was dropped off."

"Dean has some odd wounds that don't look professionally treated. One of them is rather deep. And, then his reaction to us was paranoid and violent. It's normal he'd be confused and scared because of his infection, but he attacked us with a pair of scissors." The doctor shook his head. "And he gave one man a fierce head butt. Nearly knocked him out."

"He's had training. Probably guerrilla warfare. His father never really knew how to raise him. Just considered him a young soldier." Too much truth, Singer? How much to tell? If he lied too much, the kid wouldn't receive the help he needed. "I contacted a psychiatrist. I want him to talk to Dean while he's here. Maybe he can stop by tomorrow when Dean's settled in his room?"

The doctor nodded. "After the boy surrendered the scissors, he dissociated. Just blinked at nothing and no response to any questions we asked. He made some odd movements, pointed at the ceiling, but that's it."

:::

Sam and Ellen stacked a set of large blocks in the hospital's waiting area. "Look!" he said, pointing behind her. He knocked down the blocks and gave Ellen a mischievous grin when she turned back to him.

"Hey, buster!"

Sam batted his eyes, feigning innocence.

"You're so guilty," she said, laughing. She wagged a finger at him. "Just for that, I'm going to tickle you."

Sam held his stomach and twisted side to side to evade her. He squealed each time she find a spot to tickle. "Mommy!" he cried. "No more! We do another game. Okay?"

Ellen looked around. "This is a nice play area, isn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Better than last one." He frowned. "Hey! Where's Dean? He here? I wanna talk to Dean."

Ellen swallowed and looked down. "Your daddy's with him. They're checking him in."

Sam hopped up and down in his chair. "Time. Takes too much time." He frowned. "Dean is unhappy. Nobody loves Dean."

Ellen's eyes teared up, and she motioned for Sam. "Come here. Come here, Sam." She held his head to her shoulder and rubbed his back. "That's not true."

Sam separated from her and squinted as he looked up to the ceiling. His mouth hung open as he pointed.

Ellen snorted. "I'm not falling for that again."

Sam ignored her in favor of the scene unfolding above. A massive cloud parted, and there was a lady staring down at him. She smiled, and Sam smiled back. He held up his hand and waved. "Hi, pretty lady. Hi." She had freckles across her nose and long, blond hair. She was Dean's mommy! She waved back at him.

"Dean needs you," she said. "Love him. Be nice."

Sam's dimples sang out as he smiled widely. He nodded. "Dean's my friend."

She blew him a kiss, and Sam reached up to capture it. "Tell Ellen thank you for loving my boys."

The cloud began disappearing, and Sam felt his mommy shaking his shoulders. "Sam! Are you okay? What are you staring at? Who are you talking to?"

Sam looked her up and down. "Mommy. You are Ellen?"

Ellen smiled. "That's my name. It's mommy to you, though."

"That...that lady. She's Dean's mommy. She said tell Ellen thank you for love. Um, for loving her boys?"

Ellen look surprised. "Who are you talking about? I didn't hear that." She reached to hug him again. "You're scaring me, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Nice lady. Dean has a mommy. A pretty mommy."

:::

Ellen rose from her seat when Bobby approached her. His face was red, and he kept pulling on the bill of his cap. She felt her heart flutter and wondered if Dean were seriously ill. "How is he?"

"Boy has pneumonia. He was shakin' like a dog shittin' hammer handles."

"Oh, no. Poor kid. He must be feeling awful."

Bobby noticed Sam was out of earshot yet still lowered his voice. "Doc's suspecting abuse. Made my spidey senses go off the chart, but he seems satisfied we'll be contacting a psychiatrist. Dammit. Now we have to find one, and a hunter at that. What are our chances?"

"Good, real good. This is the largest city in the state and a respected hospital. Any doc would want to work here."

Bobby smirked. "Sure about that? Most hunters are livin' in ancient log cabins or run down trailers."

Ellen fake punched Bobby's arm. "That's not true. We've met some wealthy hunters."

Bobby motioned to his throat. "Kid was bleeding. Too much screamin,' coughin' and upchuckin'." He looked down. "Dean's out of it. Couldn't talk to him. He just stares into space. Doc's worried about him." He sighed and toed at a speck of dirt on the floor. "Me, too."

"Get your cell phone out," Ellen said. "Let's start calling hunters. Somebody should know a psychiatrist. There are tons of nutty hunters needing psychoanalyzed."

Bobby gestured to Sam. "How's our little man?"

Ellen blew out a tense breath. "We really, really need to talk. Sam's turning supernatural on us again."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello, friends! Who volunteers to hold John down while I slap him silly? Haha. Thanks again for your reviews and follows. I guess you're still enjoying the fic? We're turning a corner here and will begin exploring Dean's past in the next chapter. Don't miss it!

Chapter Nine

Ash opened the blinds of a roadhouse window and watched the summer storm's lightening and torrential rains. Business was nonexistent today; he'd only sold one beer to a traveling salesman who wanted a break from driving in this weather. Now it was late afternoon, and he figured he'd shut down early, take a break and do some research on the computer.

He wiped off the bar and grabbed the Closed sign. As he reached for the door handle, he was nearly knocked off his feet by a man flinging the door open.

"What the hell?" Ash grumbled. "We're closed. Just haven't put the sign up yet."

The man swept a large hand over his wet, black hair and removed his leather jacket, shaking it off in Ash's direction and splattering water over him. "You're not closed yet," he said. "I need a beer. Bring me a pitcher of beer and some fries." He stared at Ash. "Hey! You hear me?"

Ash blinked. The man's ill-tempered demands weren't a surprise, but he hadn't seen him in years. "John," he said. "John Winchester."

John smirked. "That's my name. Don't wear it out." He motioned to Ash's mullet hair. "Still got the business in front and party in the back I see."

Ash sighed. He drew a pitcher of draft beer and set a frosted mug on a bar napkin. "What are you doing in these parts, John? Are you on a hunt?"

John took a deep gulp of his beer and snorted. "Nah. I'm quittin.'"

Ash's eyebrows rose. "Hunting?"

John banged his mug on the bar. "What else? Wasted enough of my life killing fuglies. Time for a new direction."

"Settling down here?" Ash asked offhandedly. He was careful. He'd spoken to Bobby recently and wanted to pry as much information as he could from the bear of a man seated in front of him.

John shook his head. "Just passing through."

"What are you going to do now you've quit?"

John shrugged. "I have enough saved up to open a car and truck repair business." He had a strange glimmer in his eyes. "I have a few broads set up here and there. I need to let 'em down easy. I'm getting married." He laughed harshly. "To the best looking one of course." He made a curvy motion to show her shape. "Just told one to bug off a few miles from here. Does the slap still show on my face?" John turned his cheek, and Ash saw a faint red impression of several fingers.

Ash cracked a smile. "You have a lady in every port? John Winchester, you dog."

John smiled for the first time he'd entered the roadhouse. All of his teeth were on display, and Ash couldn't help thinking about the wolfish look John took on. "Let me get those fries," he said. He quickly moved to the kitchen and dialed Bobby's cell phone number.

Ash lowered his voice when Bobby answered. "Winchester just walked into the roadhouse. Not a word about dumping Dean, but he told me he's getting married. Sounds like he's banged a lot of women around the country. Said he picked the best looking one." Ash held the phone away from his ear as Bobby cursed a long string of creative swear words. "What should I do?" Ash asked. "Okay. That sounds good. Send it while I fix some fries for His Highness."

Ash set down a large plate of fries complete with a bottle of ketchup on the side. "They're fresh," he said to John. "Do you want another beer?" he asked when he saw Winchester had consumed most of the pitcher.

"Sure," John said. "Another pitcher."

John must be an even heavier drinker than years past, Ash thought. He could certainly hold his alcohol. The man's face wasn't red, and his eyes weren't glassy. He was still perfectly sober. "Tell me about your fiancée," Ash said. "What's her name?"

"What difference does it make?" John asked, exposing a mouth full of fries. "Her name will be Winchester. Black hair, big dark eyes. She's part native."

Ash cleared his throat and nodded. He was trying to kill time so Bobby could send his email.

John wiped his hands on his jeans. "Where's the head? Gotta take care of business before taking off."

Ash pointed to the left of the bar. He raised his eyes to the ceiling after John disappeared into the restroom. "Come on, Singer!" he muttered. "Come on, come on!"

John came back and took one more gulp to finish his beer. "Well, Ash, it's been real, but I'm on my way." He pulled out a couple of bills and smacked them on the bar top. "Keep the change," he said with a wink. "So, you bought this place from that Harvelle bitch?"

Ash's eyes narrowed. "I bought it from Ellen."

John shrugged. "Business isn't good? Guess you're the sucker."

Ash's hand drifted to his pistol, but he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out instead. "There's something you might want to see before you go." Ash manipulated the phone and a photo of Dean lying in bed appeared on his screen. The screen showed all of his Technicolor bruises and broken bones. "Here," he said, handing it to John.

John examined the screen for several seconds and then cleared his throat, looking annoyed and a little embarrassed.

"Dean's been in a terrible accident," Ash said. "He developed heat stroke and fell out of a tall tree. He almost died. Still might as he's fighting off pneumonia. He keeps asking for you. At least that's what Bobby said. Bobby's been trying to get hold of you. Figured you'd want to know about your kid."

"If Singer can't handle him, I'll call CPS," John said. "Singer's always been a loser in my book. Terrible hunter."

Ash's head almost exploded as anger ripped through him. He took back his phone. "Call Bobby."

"Forget it," John yelled. "Just forget you saw me." He stepped toward Ash, using his powerful body to intimidate. He grabbed his leather jacket from a bar stool and strode towards the door.

Ash felt powerless. He had to do something to help Dean. He grabbed a large bag of potato chips and followed John to his car, disregarding the drenching rain. "Here," he said, thrusting the bag at John. "You need some more food in your system in case you're stopped by a cop."

John's eyebrows rose. He snatched the bag and entered his truck. "Yes, mother," he laughed, then slammed the door shut.

Ash rushed to the back of the truck and pulled out his cell phone, taking several closeup photos of John's license plate. He stepped away and waved as John took off. "Gotcha, f*cker," he said, grinning.

:::

Bobby found a sedate garden setting on the hospital grounds. No other people were nearby, thankfully. He wasn't in the mood to deal with normal people when he was talking to one hunter after another. He was going to run out of contacts sooner or later, and it was hard to keep calm with the grim reality of a broken kid in a hospital bed, practically comatose. He had one good lead, a psychiatrist who'd just relocated to Arkansas from Tennessee.

Bobby dialed the number that might be his last chance. He kicked at a cement bench while he waited for the call to ring through. "Doctor Paul Wegener? This is Bobby Singer. I'll get right to the point. I used to be a hunter, and not the shoot a bear type. Got me? Okay. I'm at Mercy Children's hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. It's a life or death matter. I have a fourteen-year-old who needs a psychiatrist. He's John Winchester's kid." Bobby paused and then laughed. "Heard of John, have you? Real son of a bitch he is. I have custody of his youngest son, and now he's dumped his eldest on my doorstep." Bobby listened closely. "Yeah, Dean knows he's been abandoned. He's er...more than a little violent, often psychotic, and has epilepsy. He has a boatload of physical injuries and now he's completely dissociated."

Bobby smiled widely. "You have privileges at this hospital? You'll see him? You're a saint. Seriously. I can't thank you enough."

His phone rang immediately after he hung up. "Yeah?" he answered, a little annoyed to be interrupted out of his good mood. He perked up when it was Ash calling again. "You gotta be one of the smartest fellas around," he said after hearing his story. "'Cause of your quick thinking we'll flush out John Winchester. I'm sure he's holed up in a town outside one of the Indian reservations. And, I'll bet it's in or near Minnesota. "I owe you one, Ash. You're genius, pure genius."

:::

Bobby stood with Ellen along a wall in Dean's room, trying to stay out of the way of the medical workers who were trying to help Dean. The kid had just had a damaged blood vessel cauterized, and the bleeding had stopped. He was receiving a nebulizer treatment to loosen up the congestion in his lungs. A woman administered the vapor, and she talked to him quietly even though he didn't reply and stared sightlessly. When she was done, she turned him on his side and pounded on his back. "Cough," she said to him.

Dean began choking but made no effort to cough.

The woman suctioned out his airway, doing the work for him. "Okay, honey. You come back to us when you're ready."

A nurse came into the room and joined them. "We need to talk," she said. "Dean's inability to react or respond to commands is very dangerous to his health. I have a physician's order to give him an injection of a common anti-anxiety drug. One or two injections over a twenty-four hour period are a test to see if it will help. We need your written permission to conduct this test."

Bobby took the paper from her and read it over quickly. He nodded when he saw the relatively harmless drug listed. He took her pen and signed. "Why's he doin' this? He's not catatonic, is he?"

She shook her head. "No. It's a dissociative state. It can happen if a patient is extremely overwhelmed mentally and emotionally. It's nature's way of protecting a vulnerable person by allowing them to shut off anything that can further disturb them. It's like turning off a computer and waiting a minute before restarting it."

"He looks terrible. His complexion is gray," Ellen said.

"The antibiotics haven't had time to work yet," the nurse pointed out. "I have to warn you that we need to treat him as if he is in a coma. He'll be placed in some soft restraints in case he quickly wakes up and is disoriented. And, someone will be in soon to tape his eyes closed. They're vulnerable if they're open and he can't protect them."

"What about his broken knee?" Bobby asked.

"That's a lesser priority. We first treat the conditions that threaten his survival. The knee will wait. The leg will be placed in a splint to hold it rigid until he can have surgery. It can be repaired sooner if he can have a local rather than general anesthetic."

Ellen turned toward Dean. "Can we talk to him?"

"Sure," the nurse said. "It's better if one of you is with him at all times. He might respond to your voice or soft music. Just be gentle with him. That's what he needs. He has to know it's safe to wake up."

:::

Ellen softly sang a song as she sat with Dean. She'd given up talking after realizing the details of her life would probably bore a fourteen-year-old to death. Maybe her song choices would, too. Who knows. She gathered his tangled hair and carefully worked out the knots. His wheezing breaths unnerved her, but they were checking his vitals every fifteen minutes. The people here were thorough and very kind. She felt herself relaxing the more she was around them. They made her feel she was helping with his care, not an intruder in their way.

She observed that Dean appeared more of a child than a teenager. He had no facial hair or angular lines to his face, and he was still fairly short, no taller than her. Although he was muscular, she wondered if he were malnourished. His cheeks were sunken, and his ribs and hip bones were obvious through his hospital gown. She burned inside at how some people treated children as if they were throwaway trash. So when had John Winchester tired of his son? Had he always treated Dean as disposable or an annoyance? He certainly hadn't given Dean many material possessions. What boy owned nothing but a knife and a pistol, neither of them legal for an under-aged kid to carry?

Ellen rose from her chair as a ton of medical equipment was wheeled into the room. "What in the world?" she wondered out loud.

"EEG," a technician offered. "He's scheduled for forty-eight hour monitoring."

Ellen watched as they parted Dean's hair to attach numerous electrodes. "Is that for his epilepsy?"

The technician nodded. "Should help with diagnostics, to see where the altered electrical activity is in his brain."

"He's had at least one seizure a day," Ellen said.

"Well, maybe we'll catch one then."

Bobby wheeled Sam into the room after the technician left. "Hi, hi, hi!" Sam said. "Mommy, we're baaaaack! I had the best time. Me and Mark and José and...and all the boys. We played race cars. I won, too. I beat 'em all by myself!"

"We come bearing gifts," Bobby said, waving a large, blue teddy bear at Ellen. "Sam insisted."

Ellen restrained a laugh. "Do you want to give it to Dean?" she asked Sam. "He can't talk, so he won't be able to thank you. What a thoughtful gift. I'm sure he'll like it."

Sam snatched the bear from Bobby and approached the bed. He looked Dean up and down, and his mouth hung open. He dropped the bear and pointed with a shaky hand. "Aaaaaah!" he cried. "Spooky space monster."

Ellen moved in swiftly and removed Sam from Dean's bedside. "It's Dean, honey. He's okay. They're just doing a test."

Sam pushed away from her. "Daddy. Want Daddy!" He started sobbing as he reached for Bobby.

Bobby picked him up and held him close. Sam clung to his shoulder; he continued crying and gasping for air. Bobby carried Sam into the hallway. "You're okay," he said over and over. Finally, he took Sam to the restroom so the boy could compose himself. He sat down in a chair and placed Sam on his lap. He jiggled his knee, jostling the boy to divert his attention. He rubbed Sam's back and didn't try to talk to him. Calm the body first and the mind would follow.

Ellen paced as the minutes ticked by. Dean did look scary with all the wires sticking out of his head. How could she have forgotten how Sam might take this? Hopefully, Bobby could explain the EEG to their son in a way he could understand. She didn't want Sam to be frightened of Dean, not when they were making such good progress toward a relationship. Her heart sank. She felt like such a terrible mother.

Ellen really wanted Jo here. She'd had an internship in occupational therapy for the last six months, and they'd been apart for too long. Her daughter had such a big heart. She'd understand how her mom felt. Ellen grabbed her handbag and left the room. Cell phones weren't allowed in the hospital, so she headed for the exit.

Dean was left alone. A few tears escaped his eyes, moistening the tape over them, and his fingers moved slightly, as if he were trying to clench his hand into a fist.


End file.
